


Turning From Praise (Punk!Harry Christian!Louis)

by capriciouslouis



Series: TFP [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Rimming, strong religious influences obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 128,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has had a strict Christian upbringing that he never realized he resented until he meets Harry Styles, a boy who lives to rebel and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. But the better he gets to know Harry, the more he begins to realize that maybe Harry does care. And maybe “the children who God forgot” are closer to God than the devout will ever be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After several requests I decided to start posting on here as well :) so this fic can also be found at curly-and-boobear-stylinson.tumblr.com
> 
> Disclaimer: This fic and the opinions stated with in it are not intended to reflect Christianity as a whole, just how some people interpret Biblical teachings and the stigma that can come from that. I also apologize for any inaccuracies within the story - I'm just a girl who didn't do enough research.

The train pulled into the station precisely one minute earlier than it ought to have, and Louis bounded excitedly onto the platform, dragging his suitcase behind him. Wearing a grey and white striped shirt, braces and brown three-quarter length trousers, he was proudly showing off his tan. His hair was ruffled and his eyes bright, and there was an air of excitement in his stride as he bounced onto the platform and almost ran straight into his dad, who was excitedly waiting for him with almost the same amount of enthusiasm as he had.

“Dad!” cried Louis, throwing out his arms and hurling them around his father’s neck, coming rather close to picking the older man up and spinning him around like he would with one of his sisters. Smelling like coffee and old books, his dad had always been a soothing person to hug, and today was no exception. He squeezed Louis hard.  
“Louis, son! Good grief, look at the colour of you! What have you been doing all day to get a tan like that? Let me look at you!” Louis’ dad held him at arm’s length, his face split into a grin as he examined his son, back off his holidays at long last.  
“Playing football, mostly,” Louis grinned, “and singing. It was great. They taught us how to tie knots and pitch a tent, and Ian fell into the stream on the second day while we were fishing and ended up with seaweed draped all over him. It was brilliant!”  
Sighing wistfully, his dad thumped Louis on the back. “Ah, what I wouldn’t give to have been there! Those were the days! Did you toast marshmallows?” he asked eagerly.  
Radiating smugness, Louis told him, “Of course.”  
“Oh, you! Don’t tell me anymore; you’ll make me sick with jealousy! Come here, pass me your case. Let’s go home. Your mother has been going absolutely frantic, waiting for you to come home. I told her not to make a fuss, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find a ‘Welcome Home’ banner waiting for you when we get back.” Picking up Louis’ bulging suitcase, the older man tutted fondly. “I swear this is twice as heavy as when you left.”  
Shrugging, Louis said playfully, “Are you sure? Maybe it just feels like it. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”  
“Oi! Cheeky.” Giving him a pat on the shoulder, Mark started dragging his son’s case across the platform with a grin on his face. “Let’s get you home, before I start getting phone calls demanding to know why you’re not back yet. The twins want you to play with their new ball, and your mother is just dying to feed you up. I reckon she thinks they’ve been starving you out there.”  
“Oh, they have. Dried bread and water every day. I’m practically wasting away!” Louis pounded his newly toned stomach with a grin. “Would you listen to that? Completely hollow.”  
“We’d better get you home, then. Otherwise there’ll be nothing left of you by the time we get there.” His hand on Louis’ back, the older man guided Louis kindly towards the car park with his whole face lit up. It was good to have his son back again.

~*~

He got out of the car with a grin on his tanned face, and walked straight into his mother’s arms. 

Her crucifix necklace was cold on his neck as it brushed against his skin, and her arms were warm around him as she hugged him tightly. It had been just over a month since he’d seen her last, and he’d missed her horribly. Still, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed Bible Camp. It had been really fun, actually; he’d made a lot of friends. But he was a family sort of guy, and he’d missed them all so much that it almost hurt some nights; he was glad to be home again.

The girls were milling around him, grabbing his legs and tugging on his trousers and squealing in excitement, and he would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t flattered by the attention. Daisy and Phoebe were shrieking at him in delight, Fizzy seemed close to tears, and Lottie was hugging him from behind while his mother squeezed him from the front. They were a hugging mess, and Louis couldn’t help but laugh. He’d missed all of this so much.

It had been his decision to go to Bible Camp for the summer, and he’d loved every second, but he was ridiculously glad to be back with his family all hugging him hard. He already knew that the next couple of days would be filled with chatter as they all tried to fill him in with what he had missed – in other words, every detail of their lives that he happened to not have witnessed firsthand. 

Their family was large, and although there had been plenty of people to hang out with over the summer, he’d missed the girls and their infectious giggles and equally infectious excitement, and their enthusiasm and the way they loved to hang on to him wherever he went and he never seemed to get irritated by their constant pleas to play with them. Most of the people he’d met had been his own age, and Louis loved little kids. He enjoyed their company.

He didn’t think his mother had ever held him any tighter. Her hands were on his back and she showed no sign of letting go of him; you would have thought she hadn’t seen him for years. That was what it felt like, if he was honest. She was like his best friend, really; it was unbelievable how much she meant to him. Daily phone calls hadn’t been anywhere near enough; Louis was a cuddly guy, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, and what he’d missed the most had probably been the soft smell of cooking and perfume and wax crayons that was his mother. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her very hard, just to show how glad he was to be back.

“Welcome home, Lou,” his mum whispered into his hair, squeezing him tightly. 

“It’s good to be back,” Louis chuckled, stepping out of the hug while the twins capered around him, two blonde, eight-year-old blurs. “I’ve missed being deafened. It was far too quiet out there for my liking. Nice to hear some healthy screams.”  
Jay smiled fondly. “They’re glad to have you back. We all are. Calm down, girls, you’re going to knock him over!” she warmly chided, but of course they took no notice; Daisy was attempting to climb Louis and sit on his shoulders, grabbing handfuls of his clothes to try and haul herself up, while Phoebe squealed in encouragement and leapt crazily up and down, chanting Louis’ name. More dignified than the younger ones, Lottie and Fizzy were hanging back, but clearly they were eager to be hugged too, and with a laugh, Louis waded towards them with a twin clinging to each leg and put an arm around each of them.  
“I’m not so sure about that,” Mark told her wryly as he hauled Louis’ suitcase up the driveway, “I swear he wasn’t this solid last time we saw him. I don’t know what’s bulkier; his suitcase, or him! Have you seen the muscles on that?” He teasingly squeezed Louis’ admittedly rather impressive bicep, which Louis flexed proudly.  
“Someone’s been working out,” teased Lottie, “all my friends will fancy you even more than they do already. What with the tan, and the muscles, everyone’s going to scream when they see you!” She giggled and covered her hand with her mouth, as if to giggle was a demeaning and childish thing and she was above it all.  
“Who knew that Bible Camp could be so good for you? Maybe you should go, Fiz. Get some muscles on you?” Louis playfully slapped his quietest sister on the arm, noticing that she was saying remarkably little, especially when compared to the other girls.

Felicite managed a very small smile, which quickly slid off her face. But before Louis could reach out in brotherly concern and ask if she was already, he was once again being caught up in the whirlwind that was his other sisters, who whisked him away with cries of delight and started tugging him inside without allowing him a second to argue – not that he would have, anyway. He had missed them all too much to protest to anything. 

Still, he resolved to talk to Felicite at the first available opportunity. Even in that brief glance, he’d seen that the sparkle was missing from her eyes, and she looked limp and tired, almost unenthusiastic despite her valiant attempt to look cheerful. She’d never been a particularly convincing actress. He didn’t like seeing her look even slightly miserable.

If there was a mystery, Louis would get to the bottom of it, and the mischievous glint would be back in her eyes before she’d had enough time to so much as contemplate continuing to mope.

~*~

Lottie Tomlinson was at the age when gossip is one of the most fascinating things in the world, which was why as they all sat in the pews of the local church, waiting for the service to begin, she was sat beside him, scrunched up close, whispering juicy secrets into his ear that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to. He loved his sister, but there was no chance that he was even going to feign interest in the fact that Mandy from over the road had turned up to her daughter’s christening wearing the same dress that she had worn to Sara Manning’s wedding six months before, even though Lottie was treating this as if it was the height of scandalous behaviour. Bored, Louis scanned the congregation, looking for familiar faces amongst the masses; Liam in particular. Liam was his best friend, who’d caught measles and in an untimely twist of fate had been unable to come to Bible Camp with him. Louis had missed him so much that it had been physically painful, rather similar to how he’d felt about being away from his family. He’d never been truly alone the whole holiday, but the loneliness he felt had ached.

In fact, it was only when Lottie said perhaps a little more loudly, probably to gain his attention which she had doubtlessly noticed that she didn’t have, “You see that woman over there in the black hat? Mrs. Cox, you remember her, don’t you?” and saw Felicite’s head jerk from the other end of the bench like she had been punched in the face, her cheeks flaming bright red, that he started actually listening. Whatever Fizzy’s weird behaviour was about, Mrs. Cox had something to do with it. All of a sudden, he was interested, and it definitely showed.

Pleased, Lottie continued, “She used to run all the bake sales, remember? And she’d slip us biscuits and things when we walked past, and then wink at us and put her fingers on her lips, like everyone hadn’t seen her do it. Fiz used to think she was an angel, when she was very little.”  
His littler sister’s cheeks were growing redder by the second, and somehow Louis didn’t think it had much to do with the fact that she’d once mistaken Mrs. Cox for an angel in her distant youth. When Louis thought about it, he did remember. She was a strikingly beautiful woman who always wore a smile no matter what her mood, even if the lines on her forehead showed that she didn’t feel like smiling at all. More beautiful than most women half her age and with the kind of smile that made everyone else’s mouths twitch instinctively, she’d been absolutely lovely. He couldn’t blame Felicite for thinking that she was an angel. It wasn’t a bad analogy, really.  
“Yeah, I remember her,” he said softly, as people continued trickling in through the doors at the back and taking their seats. Rather than twisting in his own seat to watch them come in, in case he spotted Liam’s face amongst the newcomers, he was attentively listening to Lottie.  
“Her son, Harry, caused quite a scandal a couple of years ago, I don’t know if you remember. You don’t tend to pay attention to these things. He stopped coming to church, refused to be confirmed, and all of a sudden started wandering around wearing eyeliner with bits of metal poking through his face and illegally getting tattoos inked all up his arms, dressing like an undertaker and listening to the kind of music that makes you want to commit just so that you don’t have to listen to it any more. He was about fourteen at the time. Before all that, he’d been a totally innocent little churchgoer like everyone else; curly hair, big eyes, looked like a fluffy little choirboy – no one would ever have thought he’d go off like that. But all of a sudden he rejected the church, rejected everyone, and went off on his own. She could barely keep her head held high in this neighbourhood after that.” Lottie sucked in a breath, clearly getting into her story.  
It hadn’t escaped Louis’ notice that Felicite was trembling. Rather than being scarlet, her skin had drained of all colour so that she sat there looking white and sickly, staring into space without blinking, biting down hard on her lower lip, shaking all over and looking like she was holding back a sob. Concerned, Louis looked around for the source of her distress, but all that he could think of was how she had reacted when Harry’s family had come up. Almost as if the names meant something different to her than they did to everyone else.  
“Well, as if Harry becoming a punk wasn’t bad enough, about three days after you’d left, he decided to come out as gay. She tried to keep it hushed up, but he wasn’t having any of it – he was gay, and he was proud of it, and he was going to tell anyone and everyone whether they asked or not! Short of getting a megaphone and screaming “I’M GAY!” or getting HOMO tattooed on his forehead, he couldn’t have made it much more obvious, really. Everyone was stunned; they expected her to throw him out. She didn’t, of course, but forget struggling able to hold her head up; she can barely take her eyes off the floor, now. She daren’t even look at anyone for shame.” Impressively leaning back, Lottie nodded conspiratively at the enormous hat hiding the woman like a giant umbrella on her head.  
Leaning around Phoebe, who was sandwiched between her and Louis, Jay hissed, “It’s absolutely sickening. She needs to drum some sense into that boy – discipline, that’s all he needs! She should never have tolerated any of that nonsense in the first place; she should have cracked down hard and stamped it out of him before it could get this far. He’ll be turned away from the pearly gates in a heartbeat, you mark my words.” She nodded seriously, not even bothering to lower her voice – and several rows away, Mrs. Cox’s shoulders had stiffened. Clearly, she could hear every word. Not caring at all that the mother of the boy she was gossiping about was obviously listening, Jay continued, “homosexuality is a disease, and she should be focusing on helping to find him a cure, not sitting back and letting him walk all over her! If it happened to one of my children, I wouldn’t take a moment’s rest until I’d set you straight again. Pardon the pun.” She chuckled darkly.  
“Mum,” Louis pleaded. He wanted to tell her to shut up, but ‘honour thy mother and thy father’ had always been, to him, one of the most important commandments he could think of, so he bit back the reprimand and settled for a reproachful glance instead.

The enormous black feather on Mrs. Cox’s hat was shaking like a leaf along with the quivers of the rest of her body but that was the only other indication that she had even heard them. In fact, Louis wasn’t sure who was shaking more – the woman who they had just been badmouthing, or his own little sister, who sat with her lips pressed together on the end of the row apparently struggling not to burst into tears.

~*~

Louis exited the church feeling incredibly ashamed of his family; he knew that he’d never be able to meet Mrs. Cox’s eyes again. He deliberately walked ahead of them, leaving them all to trail behind because he didn’t particularly want to be associated with them. He’d just reached the gate of the churchyard when he spotted the boy patiently waiting on the pavement just outside.

He had curly brown hair that fell a little over one eye; it was a ruffled mess, like he’d got out of bed, dragged his fingers through it, shook it into a new arrangement on his head and left it like that. His eyes were subtly outlined in black, making them look darker, so that Louis couldn’t tell what colour they actually were from the distance he was at. He had a pair of silver angel bites that glinted in the sun – ironic, Louis thought, considering they were outside a church. A short-sleeved band t-shirt (Pink Floyd, Louis noted; he was pretty sure he’d heard of them) seemed to be a glaring contrast to Louis’ suit – his mother always insisted that he was well-dressed for church. A cobweb was tattooed on each elbow, and he also had what seemed to be a quote in italic writing inked up his left arm. He also had a single ring through his lower lip. 

His wrists were decorated with bracelets, the most noticeable one being a rubber wristband in a rainbow pattern, and the meaning of that was pretty clear, bearing in mind the revelation that Lottie had given him only an hour or so before. Most of the others were bits of thread braided together, weird beaded things or rubber strips that were more like elastic bands than bracelets. He wore Converse sneakers a lot like the ones Louis had at home, only dirtier, and tight black jeans, and he was very pale. There were dark circles underneath his outlined eyes, making them look darker; he looked exhausted, like he needed a good night’s sleep. Probably been up partying all night at some gay bar three towns away, Louis forced himself to think, but he didn’t really believe it.

Surprisingly, though, the boy didn’t look at all threatening – he was just stood quietly waiting, and as Mrs. Cox shoved past Louis, determinedly holding her head high so that the feather on her hat quivered as she walked, she strode straight up to the boy and laid her hand on his pale arm. He smiled warmly at her, laid his big hand over hers and squeezed. Then, they both turned around, he delved into his pocket and brought out a pair of car keys, unlocked the black mini cooper behind him, and even hurried around to open the door for her before he got in himself. Louis felt himself soften at the sight, and then shook himself. What was wrong with him?

Still, that was his standard response to anything vaguely sweet; he should have expected it, really. He was a massive softy at heart; he was the type who cried at soppy films and melted at the sound of a baby’s laughter. It made sense that the sight of an incredibly sweet boy who looked like he ought to be beating up grandmas in his spare time, not opening car doors for his mother.

He turned around so that he didn’t have to watch them drive away, feeling horribly guilty for some reason. Okay, so maybe the boy looked a little odd, and his fashion sense was definitely weird, but – 

Ugh. His whole helplessness towards anyone who seemed like they needed help in some way would be the death of him. He just couldn’t resist a sob story. Rubbing his eyes, Louis shivered and attempted to banish all thoughts of the boy before they could sneak up on him and he could start caring for the kid like he was another of the stray cats that he’d found wandering around outside and brought into his home. He had eight of them now, and they all liked to miaow and wind their slender, fluffy bodies around his legs when he walked in; he didn’t need a weird boy with strange clothes and dark eyes to add to the bunch. 

Shut up, he told himself firmly. Stop it right now. You don’t want to get mixed up with a guy like that, no matter what kind of misunderstood puppy act he’s got going on. Don’t you dare get all mushy and attached, and start caring about a misfit like that, Louis Tomlinson. Don’t even think about him.

Little did he know it, but that was going to become an incredibly recurring thought over the course of the next few weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

“They call themselves ‘The Children Who God Forgot’,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes. She gave her ice cream a token lick with her pointed pink tongue and tucked her hair behind her ear as she shook her head at their stupidity.  
Louis raised an eyebrow. It had taken a lot of bribery in the form of ice cream to persuade his little sister to tell him more about Harry (he didn’t care; he was just trying to get up to scratch on local gossip, that was all). So far, she’d told him all of the boy’s favourite haunts, the many reasons why all of their strictly Christian neighbours completed hated him (gay, wore eyeliner, listened to ‘horrible music’ – although apparently always at an acceptable volume that never disturbed anyone, so their disapproval was unwarranted – liked to wear black, didn’t come to church, disliked haircuts, had a divorced mother and yet had insisted on keeping his father’s name so that people would know about it, and had a tightly-knit group of non-Christian friends) given him a detailed description of said friends, and was currently explaining the name of Harry’s little gang of eyeliner-wearing misfits.  
“It’s supposed to be ironic,” she explained, shaking her head. “When Harry came out as gay, Father Marshall went around to pay him a visit and try to talk some sense into him. He was very reasonable about it; he explained that it’s just a childhood phase, and God will help him through it. He told him that homosexuality isn’t God’s wish and that he understands Harry’s going through a lot of turmoil at the moment, and he knows it’s hard, but he hopes that Harry will start coming back to church and let God help him instead of shutting him out. Apparently, he said something along the lines of ‘I know it must feel like God has forgotten you, but I think you’ll find that he’s waiting on the sidelines for you to make the right decision’. Well, Harry obviously didn’t take him very seriously, because the next day his little gang suddenly started announcing that they were ‘The Children Who God Forgot’, and thinking it was hilarious.”  
Louis couldn’t decide whether he was appalled or amused; on one hand, it was clearly a mark of intelligence that the boy had twisted their argument against him and found a way of mocking it, but it was incredibly disrespectful as well.  
“He’s, uh...he has an awful lot of...tattoos and stuff,” he said inadequately.  
Lottie giggled. “Oh, I know! For someone so pale, he takes his top off an awful lot! There’s far more underneath that shirt of his, believe me.” She giggled again and covered her mouth to hide her laughter; her mother would have been horrified at the kind of conversation they were having.  
“Who are his friends, then? Do I know them? I don’t think I actually know him, when I think about it; I haven’t seen him at school.” He’d have remembered that boy, most definitely. Besides, the dress code at Louis’ school didn’t really allow for angel bites and tattooed elbows and such.  
“Nah, he goes to the public school on the other side of town. He doesn’t even go to church, Lou; you really think they’d let him go to your school? His best mate is that Irish kid, Niall something, and that guy Zayn, and they’re just as tattooed and covered in eyeliner as he is. That Zayn guy has taken tattoos to a whole new level, though; it’s ridiculous, actually. He’s got them everywhere.”

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, Lottie nibbling on the cone of her ice cream while Louis wondered whether she was going to demand another one once she’d finished it, and whether he could really afford to keep satisfying his younger sister’s ice cream desires, and whether it was fair to buy one for her and not for any of the other girls, even if it was for the sake of bribery.

“Does he cause a lot of trouble around town?” he asked, attempting to sound casual.  
It evidently didn’t work; she glanced up at him suspiciously. “You’re as bad as Fizzy! What’s gotten you so interested in him all of a sudden? What’s with all the questions?”  
Mentally filing away the fact that Fizzy had been asking a lot of questions about Harry as well, Louis focused on not giving anything away; he didn’t like to lie, which meant that he had mastered the art of not giving the whole truth away when he spoke.  
“Just catching up on the gossip. You know I don’t like to be out of the loop.” One hundred per cent true. To distract her, he quickly leaned forwards and poked her in the face with his ice cream, leaving an enormous vanilla blob on the end of her nose.  
Lottie shrieked in outrage, batting him away, and then with a laugh she leapt off the wall and started backing away, wiping her sticky nose with the back of her hand and pulling a disgusted face. “Oh, you’re so going to pay for that.”  
“You wanna bet?” Louis tossed the ice cream into the nearest bin and held his arms out challengingly. “Bring it, squirt. I could take ten of you and not even break a sweat.”  
“Yeah? Let’s hear you say that again after I kick you in the balls!” Giggling, Lottie lunged at him, and he quickly leapt out of the way. As with most siblings, they had quarrelled almost daily since birth, meaning that they were experienced in play-fighting with each other. Louis was seventeen now, and Lottie in her early teens, but that didn’t mean they were going to stop messing around.

Setting off at a sprint to avoid her, Louis shook away all of his troubling thoughts that were demanding to know why he was so fascinated with Harry, and burst out laughing, enjoying the advantage that his longer legs gave him. He’d satisfied his curiosity – for now.

~*~

It had been far too long since he’d been shopping, so he made a well-needed trip to the shopping centre to buy the necessities for when school (well, college – gulp!) started again in September; some new school shoes, a new bag, all the standard stuff. It was completely by accident that he ended up in HMV, perusing the indie section of the store and checking the CDs for bands that his parents didn’t mind. They had very specific orders about what music they allowed him to listen to, and he didn’t really mind; he wasn’t into the heavier kind of stuff anyway. He preferred quieter songs with an actual meaning behind them rather than shrieking guitar riffs.

While he was examining the cover-art of a compilation CD of one of his favourite bands, wondering whether he could afford it, he heard an extremely loud laugh behind him. Completely by instinct, he turned towards the source of the noise, and found himself face to face with a blond boy wearing a leather jacket with so many enormous spikes on it that he was in serious danger of poking someone’s eye out, looking kind of like a black and silver porcupine.

He almost jumped out of his skin, yelping in shock and staggering several feet backwards. Before he could fall flat on his back into a stack of CDs, the boy reached out and snagged him by the sleeve, stopping him from falling, and Louis saw that he was wearing a ring shaped like a snarling lion, and had black nail varnish. Nervously, he licked his lips, nodded in thanks and quickly disentangled himself from the boy’s strangely helpful hands.

“Sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards into an apologetic smile. “Didn’t see you there.” He had a strong Irish lilt to his voice that was obvious even from those two short sentences.  
“No problem,” Louis replied faintly, struggling to cope with the fact that by some coincidence, he’d come face to face with Harry Styles’ best friend, that Lottie was completely right; he wore eyeliner too, and the edge of a tattoo was poking out just above the collar of his jacket, decorating one of his defined collarbones. It looked suspiciously like a pentagram, one of the symbols Louis had always been taught was a sign of evil, and he swallowed very hard.  
“Oi, Niall! Stop terrorizing the other shoppers,” came a rich, teasing voice, and Louis found himself blinking in utter shock at how perfectly, gorgeously smooth each syllable sounded as they slid through Harry Styles’ pierced lips.  
Turning around, the Irish lad laughed again, the same racous yet oddly nice sound that he had made before. “Whoops. I didn’t do it on purpose!” he insisted, I didn’t even see him!”  
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Stepping forwards, Harry fondly slung one of his bare arms around his friend’s shoulders; his bracelets clinked together and tinkled where they came into contact with the spikes on Niall’s jacket, which Harry didn’t seem to feel digging into his arm. He smiled pleasantly at Louis, who could see now that he was at close range that Harry had eyes the colour of the fir tree outside Louis’ bedroom window, and they were only more defined by the eyeliner that he had expertly swiped around them. His hair fell in ruffled curls over his pale forehead, and there was a kind of wry twist to his mouth that hinted at a great sense of humour. Today, he wore a plain black woollen jumper with the sleeves rolled up just past the elbows, and black Chinos with ripped knees, and the same sneakers as the day before, although they appeared to have been cleaned, and he’d swapped the customary white laces for rainbow-striped ones. Like Louis had noticed the day before, he had a delicate cobweb tattooed on each elbow; now that he was close enough to read the writing on the boy’s left forearm, he examined it closely, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that he was staring. 

“Love me or hate me, both are in my favour…If you love me, I'll always be in your heart…If you hate me, I'll always be in your mind.”

Hmm.

“Sorry about this idiot,” Harry said warmly, and his voice was the kind of voice that should narrate children’s audio-books; it was deep and calming, melting over him like warm water; one of the most pleasant voices Louis had ever heard. His mouth almost fell open in a completely moronic way, but he just managed to keep it shut.  
“That’s okay,” he found himself saying, “I didn’t pay enough attention to what was going on behind me, I guess.”  
Green eyes flickering to the CD in Louis’ hands, Harry asked cheerfully, “Hey, I like that band too. Do you have their new album? It’s great, isn’t it?” He disentangled his long arm from around Niall’s shoulders and beamed at Louis.  
“Uh, no, my mum didn’t want me listening to it after they changed the genre a little...” He blushed at how idiotic it sounded. “Um, I should probably, uh –”  
Harry held his hand out, and Louis quickly gave it to him, anxious that he might get his head kicked in if he didn’t – even though up close, despite the eyeliner, the boy didn’t look like he was capable of harming a fly. He was too goofy, too gangly, too pale and skinny and good-natured and looked like he was still growing into his body. The best way to describe him was long – he was long all over.  
“Hey, Harry!”  
All three of them looked up in surprise as a beautiful brown-eyed boy ambled over to join them. The first thing that Louis noticed about him was his very tall, thick black hair, with a bright blond stripe in the centre – the second was that rather than wearing black and silver like the other two, he was wearing a luminous orange shirt, a black waistcoat and black jeans, and a chunky metal belt dripping with chains. A few more seconds of observation taught him that Lottie had been perfectly accurate in her description of him; he did have tattoos everywhere. The insignia of the band Nirvana was inked onto his neck, and he had a musical note entwined with roses on his left wrist. There were plenty more designs on his flawless skin, but before Louis could examine them properly, he realized he was gaping and looked away, feeling incredibly stupid.  
“Hi, Zayn,” Harry said calmly, and without looking away from Louis, he held his hand up for a high-five. Zayn elbowed him in the ribs, and Harry smirked and reached around to smack him on the bum, making the other boy laugh and ruffle his curly hair in retaliation. Proper greetings established with one friend, Zayn stepped around him and proceeded to teasingly smack Niall across the back of the head, then get him in a headlock and thoroughly destroy his hair, too.  
“Hey,” whined Niall, struggling valiantly against him – Louis was surprised that so far none of the boys had been impaled on the little spiky studs on Niall’s jacket; they looked horribly sharp, but either they were all so used to it that they didn’t notice any more, or they weren’t as lethal as they looked. Louis was inclined to believe the former.  
“All right?” Zayn said, then he looked at Louis. “Hey, I’m Zayn.”  
Louis instinctively managed a smile and stuttered out his own name in return, but he couldn’t help but feel stunningly awkward in his blue jeans and red and white striped shirt; he felt ridiculously normal looking compared to the three boys in front of him, who all wore at least one item of black clothing and lots of jewellery; for Harry it was his hundreds of stringy bracelets; Zayn had several thick chains around his neck to match the ones around his waist, and Niall had his incredibly unusual ring adorning one finger.  
“Harry, and Niall,” added Zayn, indicating his friends.  
Almost as if he hadn’t noticed his friend introducing him, Harry interrupted as if they’d been halfway through a conversation, “I might buy this, actually. You don’t want it, do you? Because if you were going to get it, I can always look and see if they have another.” His expression was friendly but otherwise unreadable as he made eye contact with Louis and tapped the CD case.  
“Nah, I don’t – I was just looking,” Louis said weakly. Jingling his pocket regretfully, he realized that he didn’t have enough money anyway. “You can have it.”  
“Really? Hey, thanks!” Harry grinned, and the smile lit up his whole face as he showed off the kind of smile that belonged on an advert for dentistry – it even reached his forest green eyes, and Louis found himself catching his breath in surprise at the brilliance of the boy’s smile.

Just as Harry was absentmindedly beginning to examine the CD, his beautiful eyes roving over the cover art, there was a loud crash from outside, and the sound of someone crying out in dismay. Harry’s head snapped up in alarm, he shoved the CD back into Louis’ hands, and then he whirled around and rushed out of the shop, his curls bouncing, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.

Zayn and Niall exchanged glances, rolled their eyes as if Harry rushing off at the first sound of a disturbance was something that happened every day and they were both used to and bored by it now – and then they turned around and hared off after him, although Niall did manage to blurt out a “bye!” to Louis before he vanished through the double doors, leaving Louis standing alone with the CD he couldn’t afford clutched in his hands.

Hastily replacing it back on the shelf where he’d found it, Louis followed them (the exit is that way! What other way could I go? was Louis’ justification) and when he burst out of the shop, he discovered an old woman scrabbling helplessly on the floor to try and pick up the shopping that had fallen to the ground when her plastic shopping bags had split and burst everywhere – but what shocked him most was the sight of Harry kneeling beside her, helping to gather up her shopping, picking up armfuls of it as he looked around for something to put it all in. Her own slender arms were filled with packages, and she too seemed at a loss as to what she was going to do with it now that the bags were all ripped.

“Are you all right?” he asked her in a low voice. “Here, it’s all right, I’ll carry those –”  
“Oh, thank you so much, dear, I really don’t know what I’m going to do with all of these things; I was hoping that the bags would hold until I got home –”  
Harry offered eagerly, “If you want, I could go back to the shop and get some more bags for you? I don’t mind, really –”  
It was such a ridiculous sight; the boy with the floppy hair and black clothes and various bits of metal sticking through his face, eagerly trying to help a struggling old woman. Louis found himself rather in awe of her, if he was perfectly honest, seeing as he himself had quavered at the sight of Harry and his friends, whereas she was taking it all in her stride and gratefully accepting his help. He felt himself softening at the sight of Harry kindly accepting another armful of shopping from her, and then throwing a pleading glance towards his friends, who stood watching with expressions of resignation that was bordering on amusement. Zayn seemed a little exasperated, whereas Niall was apparently struggling to keep a smile off his face.  
“It’s bloody ridiculous. He really can’t help himself, can he? The first sight of someone who needs a hand with something, and there he is. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks he’s the next Clark Kent.” Zayn shook his head wearily.  
Niall snorted with laughter. “I can’t imagine our Haz in red and blue lycra, if I’m honest. He’s got the body for it, but I don’t think red is his colour.” He started striding towards Harry and the old woman, saying, “might as well; there’s no harm in doing a couple of good deeds. Come on, man. Help the guy out. It’s not his fault that he’s too nice for his own good.”  
Grumbling under his breath, Zayn followed the Irish lad with his hands stuffed into his pockets, but failed completely at looking surly; he too seemed to be unable to help smiling at Harry. Louis shared the sentiment; he had softened completely, and was almost feeling like he wanted to hug Harry. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone do such a genuinely lovely thing for a complete stranger before in his whole life.

Immediately, Louis turned his back on them, already recognizing the danger signs of his own ridiculous tendency to develop fondness for outcasts, strays and misfits in general. He was completely determined that he wasn’t going to develop any kind of affection for this total stranger – this gay, weird, kind of scary-looking stranger who his parents and everyone else he knew seemed to dislike so heartily. In fact, he needed to remember the rather crucial fact that Fizzy had almost been reduced to tears by the mere mention of his name; there was a reason behind that which he still needed to find out.

The boy had bits of metal sticking through his face! His friends wore metal all over their bodies and clothes! His shoelaces were rainbow coloured and he wore so many bracelets that you couldn’t see the first five inches of his pale wrists! He wore eyeliner. He was the kind of guy Louis had always been taught to avoid like the plague. If he had been a leper, then it would have been Louis’ duty to attempt to care for him – but a punk with tattoos on his arms and headphones trailing out from the neck of his t-shirt and dangling down his chest? No, he’d been told to stay away from people like that, and he didn’t question that for a second. Nor did he have any intention of ever starting to question it. He didn’t argue with his parents – ever. 

By the time Zayn, Harry and Niall had thought to look up and ask the stranger with the silver crucifix around his neck whether he would help them to pick up the shopping of the old lady, who was apparently not at all daunted by their abundance of facial piercings and was timidly asking whether it would be too much trouble for them to help her take it all to her car, Louis had already vanished around the corner, lost in thought and lost from sight. Bearing in mind that he was a devout Christian and helping people was supposed to be second nature to him, it perhaps wasn’t the greatest testament to his character, but he had lots of things on his mind.

His apparent fascination with the inexplicable kind-heartedness of Harry Styles being one of them.


	3. Chapter 3

So Louis was a devout Christian who liked to frequent charity shops. What a hilarious cliché. He would never have admitted it to anyone, least of all himself, but Louis liked charity shops. That way, he could buy things that were a little weird, suited him, didn’t smell like the shop he bought them in or like polystyrene drenched in chemicals (so many manufactured items of clothing did smell just like that; he was spending a fortune drenching them all in Lynx before he wore them, it was getting to be a real problem). And he was helping charity at the same time! Everybody wins.

Still, charity shops aren’t really the coolest of places to buy clothes, so Louis was keeping a relatively low profile. Burgundy and white-striped sweater. Jeans. A beanie and a pair of glasses that he didn’t really need, but wore for vanity’s sake. His ever-present crucifix necklace. Reasonably conspicuous, really. Nobody would see him, not unless they were specifically keeping an eye out.

He flicked nonchalantly through the clothing rails, draping a loose woollen jumper over his arm. What colour it was supposed to be was anybody’s guess (the sickly fluorescent lighting in the shop left a lot to be desired, leaching the colour out of the world so that everything looked pale and wan, and therefore colours were trickier to determine, although he was estimating some kind of beige) but it was the kind of sweater he liked to wear, and only a fiver, so he was having it. A pair of espadrilles – in his size, too! Pleased, he picked them up. He hoped it was just the horrible lighting which made them look orange.

A historical novel for his mother. A moth-eaten bear for the twins (they loved threadbare, shabby toys far more than new ones; seemed to take a strange delight in looking after battered old teddies and caring for them like they were their children). By now, Louis had found a wire shopping basket and was haphazardly throwing bargains into it without hesitation, enjoying the clink of his purchases as they landed in the basket, the buzz of knowing that he was going to leave the shop with a lighter wallet and an abundance of bulging plastic bags. He loved shopping. Probably should have brought his mum with him – she thrived on tiny little places like this, excitedly throwing cut-price items into a basket and buying them all with a grin, and then lavishly pouring her change into charity gift boxes. It would have been an excellent opportunity for them to talk. He wished he’d asked her to come with him. 

However, he rather swiftly changed his mind about that when he walked around a couple of shelves bulging with bric-a-brac and spotted none other than Harry Styles, standing behind the counter with his fingers in the till.

He instantly retreated, mouth falling open, and peered around the shelf with his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Today, Harry was wearing ripped black jeans and a shirt with lots of safety pins poking through it. Some of the safety pins were dripping with paper clips, and the whole effect was rather weird. The headphones dangling out of the front of his shirt had been spray-painted silver, but the dodgy lighting made them look an unpleasant coppery kind of colour, doing the same to his angel bites and the ring through his lip. As Louis watched, the boy took another step behind the till and continued rifling through the money without a care in the word, apparently completely unconcerned that someone could see him at any moment. Undoubtedly, he didn’t think anyone would have the audacity to stop him. 

Well, then, he thought wrong! Louis angrily pushed out his chest. Finally, a legitimate reason to dislike the boy – he’d caught him stealing, and from charity, no less! He wasn’t about to sit back and watch someone steal money from homeless children or women with cancer or sick dogs, or whatever cause this weird little shop was supporting, no matter how many bits of metal he had sticking through his face! As Louis watched in utter disgust, Harry pulled a fifty pound note out of the till, examined it and held it up to the light, squinting at it like he was making sure it wasn’t counterfeit.

Louis burned with barely restrained anger. Stealing from charity didn’t really fit in with the pensioner-helping, ridiculously friendly Harry Styles he’d met a couple of days ago, but he didn’t really care about that; he was completely furious, and he was going to make sure plenty of people knew about it. His overflowing metal shopping basket swinging aggressively from one hand, Louis stalked right up to the counter and leaned over it with a scowl. Then he had to pause for a moment, because truthfully, he had absolutely no idea what to say. 

He decided to just go for it and blurt out whatever came into his head, and hope it didn’t sound too stupid.

“Hey!” That was good; it sounded angry. And unafraid. Louis sucked in a pleased breath, proud of how fearless he sounded; Harry wouldn’t mess with him.   
With a yelp, Harry almost dropped the note; he caught it just in time, and stood with his pale fingers clenched firmly around it. To Louis’ disapproval, he didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed to have been caught with aforementioned fingers in the till – in fact, he just looked honestly surprised, rather than sheepish or cowed or guilty or any of the other emotions Louis would have expected from a thief who’d just been caught.  
“It’s you,” he said in astonishment.  
Well, that certainly caught Louis by surprise. What was he supposed to say to that? Taken aback, he faltered slightly as he answered, “Yeah, it’s me.” Then he remembered that he was angry, and he’d just caught Harry stealing from charity, so he continued, “never mind me! It’s you!”  
“I know it’s me! Last time I checked, I’ve always been me. What are you doing here? And why did you scarper when I was picking up that old lady yesterday? Me and the boys could have used your help.” He didn’t sound accusing; more disappointed, but Louis still didn’t like it.  
How had the conversation swerved so dramatically from him catching Harry in the act to Harry demanding to know why he hadn’t helped a pensioner? He was trying to distract him! By changing the subject! Louis knew what he was up to. He scowled and evaded the explanation. “I don’t have to explain myself to you! You’re the one who has some serious explaining to do. What are you doing here?”  
“I work here,” Harry said, sounding a little affronted, “and you still didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”  
Oh. He worked there. Louis felt a little deflated, until it occurred to him that Harry had probably only acquired the job so no questions would be asked when he went filtering through the till. “Shopping,” he replied. He tried to make it sound angry, but the moment had kind of gone. “What are you doing in the till, then, huh? Up to no good, are you? Huh? I know your game! I know what you’re doing, and you won’t get away with it, you...you...you thug!” He indignantly stood on his tiptoes because he didn’t much like Harry being taller than him when he was trying to intimidate him.  
Harry blinked his outlined eyes. “I don’t follow.”  
“Stealing!” Louis fumed. “From charity. You should be ashamed of yourself!”  
Harry’s expression went from confusion to derision in an instant; he snorted at Louis’ display of self-righteousness, which made him feel rather small. “Brilliant,” he said dryly. “Well, I’ve been accused of many things in my time, but I have to admit that stealing from abused children is a new one.”  
Not to be put off, Louis carried on with his tirade; he was on a roll. He wasn’t interested in Harry’s excuses. “What sort of heartless monster steals from innocent abused children?” demanded Louis.  
“You’ll have to ask one and find out.”  
“I have done, but thus far he’s being extremely un-cooperative!” Louis harshly poked Harry in the chest, warily avoiding the assortment of safety pins and paper clips attached to his shirt. A stationary-inflicted injury would distract him from the matter in hand, not to mention that it would be somewhat pathetic. Oh, I took on the terrifying punk kid who was stealing from abused children, and I got horrifically injured...by slitting my finger open on his shirt. Yeah, that sounded heroic.  
The boy scowled and folded his arms across his chest. “I wasn’t stealing it, you plank. I work here, I told you. I thought some guy might have slipped me a counterfeit note, so I was checking it. Problem?”   
Desperately clinging to his theory, Louis insisted, “You can’t put one over on me. I know your game!” He was going to embarrass himself by blushing, he just knew it.  
“Oh, you do, do you?” It was Harry’s turn to be angry now. Slipping the note back into the till, he closed the little drawer with a ping, wearing a thunderous expression; even his forest green eyes seemed to have darkened. “There, I put it back – satisfied? I didn’t steal a thing. You people make me sick. You’re all the same. Just because I have tattoos and a couple of rings through my face and I like to wear black, you think you can judge me? You think you know who I am? I do volunteer work here; I don’t even get paid. And I can’t do a single nice thing for people without getting suspicious looks or asked what I get out of it, or what I’m up to, or people thinking I’m going to kick their head in the moment they turn their back!”  
“Maybe,” Louis said, although he was fully aware he was going to sound like a di – um, a prat for saying it – “if you dressed like a normal person, people wouldn’t give you so much sh...trouble.”  
That was it; he’d crossed some kind of line, and Harry’s whole skinny body had swelled with fury. “Why should what I wear come into it? My clothes don’t dictate who I am! You haven’t even bothered getting to know me; you just leapt out at me from behind a shelf and started hurling accusations because you think you’re god’s gift and I’m not. What makes you so much better than me? I happen to like dressing like this, so I’ll dress like this if I want to. I’m not going to go to hell for having a couple of tattoos, or angel bites!”  
Louis’ mouth had fallen open in surprise, astonished by Harry’s passionate tirade, but it wasn’t over yet. In fact, Harry showed no signs of stopping, falling over himself in his urgency to express his infuriation at how he was being wronged by a stereotypical society. It was kind of mesmerizing, really, to see this oddity of a boy defending himself and his lifestyle choices without so much as pausing to think about what he was saying.  
“And before you start making comments about my sexuality, I’d like you to know that who you love doesn’t mean a single fucking thing in regard to your personality or how you treat other people – excepting the person you’re in love with, of course – and statistically, gay marriages last far longer and are far more successful than straight ones, with far lower divorce rates, and gay couples don’t abandon their children like straight ones do because they actually want them, and who I’m attracted to has nothing to do with you anyway, or anyone in this town unless it happens to be you. Unless I come up to you and kiss you on the lips and tell you I care about you and I want to be with you, my sexuality has fuck all to do with you, so you can tell all those busy bodies from church that, and tell them to –” He waxed poetic with a stream of colourful profanities, bursting out of him like fireworks, all of them rather graphic suggestions about exactly where the congregation of their local church could shove his sexuality. “And if you don’t like it, you can shove your head up there, too!” he said furiously. “Now if you don’t mind –”

He stepped around the counter and stormed over to the door, yanking it open with a flourish. The rainbow shoelaces on his sneakers had come undone and were trailing on the floor; Louis quietly looked at them without saying a word, and Harry followed his gaze and blushed, but made no attempt to tie them.

“I’d like you to leave, now, please,” he said. “You’re barred.”  
Louis’ mouth fell open. His indignant splutters were incoherent for the first couple of seconds, before he forced out, “What? You can’t do that! This isn’t a pub!”  
“I think you’ll find I can, and I just did. I’d advise you to leave now, before I call security. Because if I do that, then forget just this shop; you’ll be barred from the entire precinct. They won’t let you back into a single shop in this whole centre. Your choice.” Harry was still pointedly holding the door open, his green eyes glinting dangerously.  
Seeing as Louis regularly came to the shopping centre with his family and had absolutely no intention of ever having to explain to his mother why he’d been banned from entering, he decided he’d better leave gracefully rather than being manhandled onto the street by burly security guys. Sticking his nose in the air like he’d seen people do on TV (he didn’t know whether people actually did it in real life, but it felt good) he thrust his shopping basket at Harry without looking at him, feeling a satisfying smack as the metal slammed into Harry’s chest. The curly haired boy audibly gritted his teeth; Louis could hear them grinding together, but he didn’t allow Louis the satisfaction of commenting on it, even to threaten him with security again. Silently mourning the loss of the orange/brown espadrilles in his basket, Louis dramatically swept out of the shop, resolving to come back another time when it wasn’t Harry’s shift and buy those shoes. 

He made it a good hundred metres down the main corridor of the shopping centre towards the entrance that faced the car park before he could no longer resist the temptation to turn back and look. Harry had let the shop door swing closed, but Louis could still see him through the glass; he was red in the face and looked completely livid, still clutching the basket full of the purchases Louis had been about to make. His hotheadedness had cost him Daisy and Phoebe’s bear, which was fixing a plaintive, glassy-eyed stare on Harry’s angry face.

Even as Louis watched, Harry furiously swiped the worn teddy bear out of the basket, dumped the metal basket on the floor and then dashed the teddy against the window in frustration, hurling it so hard that Louis was surprised the glass didn’t fracture. If it had been a real animal, its blood and brains would have been splattered dramatically across the glass. Breathing hard, Harry dropped to the floor, buried his face in his knees and sat there, his shoulders heaving, clearly struggling against some kind of violent inner turmoil. It almost looked like he was crying. 

Louis felt horribly guilty for a moment, wondering if he’d involuntarily brought up an age-old argument that Harry had been having with his peers and his family for years, which would explain why Harry had gotten so worked up about it – but he immediately forced himself to shrug off the concern. The kid was a psycho! He’d blown a simple mistake completely out of proportion, basically had an argument with himself (since Louis hadn’t really done much in the way of fighting back) thrown Louis out of the shop on the pretence of abusive behaviour but with no provocation, and then started hurling stock around! The kid had a screw loose, Louis told himself comfortingly as he quickly turned his back on the shop and walked away. Not his problem.

If he’d allowed himself to look back one more time, he would have seen Harry quickly raise his head and stare miserably after him with puffy red eyes, streaked with smudgy black, his lower lip wobbling – then choke and hide his face in his knees again, disguising his curiosity and his shame over his tears from anyone who might have spotted him sobbing on the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

“Louis, she said I was a pig!”  
“I didn’t say you were a pig, I said you looked like a pig,” Daisy corrected with classic eight year old logic, then she stuck out her tongue and made several snorting noises right in her sister’s face.  
Playing the long-suffering older brother role, Louis bit back a sigh and said wearily, “Now, Daze, that isn’t very nice, is it?”  
She looked wounded, her little pink mouth pushing out in a pout, blue eyes shining as she gave him her best injured look, like she was the victim of the situation. Louis had seen Daisy’s pleading face enough times that it didn’t affect him anymore; he glanced down the road instead, and, put out, she started tugging on his sleeve to try and commandeer his attention.  
“But she said I was –”

It was at about that point that he stopped listening. When he’d offered to take the twins to the park to give his mum a break, he’d forgotten that when his little sisters weren’t being doe-eyed and adorable so that strangers would coo over them, or so uncannily alike that he wondered if they really could read each other’s thoughts, they were fighting. Forget cat and dog – this was cat and cat, and each sister gave as good as she got. Louis really wasn’t in the mood for it.

Since the charity shop fiasco, he’d honestly been feeling rather guilty, as if he’d done something absolutely awful. He couldn’t seem to forget Harry’s angry expression as he’d walked out, couldn’t help remembering that he’d hurled accusations with no provocation and got entirely the wrong end of the stick, and hadn’t even apologized. What must the boy think of him now?

Why do I care about that? Louis asked himself in utter bewilderment. Why did it matter what the local misfit thought of him? Was he so shallow that he couldn’t stand the thought of one person disliking him? The whole community liked Louis; he was well-known for being friendly, responsible, hard-working and yet always up for a laugh, attending church without fail, loving kids and doing anything he could to help people out. He lost count of the amount of friends he had, the amount of people who would just run up to him in the street and start a conversation like they’d been best friends for years, even if he barely knew them. So why was he so bothered about one lonely boy who everybody shunned? Why did it matter what that boy thought of him?

He had several theories (including that the boy was far more considerate and friendly than most of the people he knew, and he also had an incredible tendency to wander amongst Louis’ thoughts and poison them all with his easy smile, the clink of his bracelets, the twinkle in his eyes...) but Louis was too afraid to think of those. He didn’t want to think about the fact that the smooth white curve of Harry’s throat was far more attractive than any girl’s, far more tempting to layer kisses over. That the hard line of his jaw was at a ridiculously alluring angle, that Louis could have fastened his mouth to it without hesitation. That his large hands would have just the right amount of grip on Louis’ waist to make him feel safe and yet let him know that Harry was most definitely there, holding him hard enough to have bruises. The cute little grin that he kind of wanted to be the cause of.

He’d seen the way the parishioners of the church despised Harry, the nasty looks they would shoot him, their evident mistrust of him. The comments that most stuck with him were those of his own mother, who could often be heard complaining about the boy over their evening meal – not seeming to notice that Felicite wilted visibly with every mention of his name, shrinking into herself like a snail into its shell – and nine times out of ten, his sexuality and not his clothing was the source of her annoyance. If Louis admitted that he was attracted to any man, let alone one that his entire family hated, he didn’t like to think about how she’d react – but he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d be greeted by an angry mob on his way home from college the day after. She certainly wouldn’t allow him over the threshold of their home again. 

Not because it mattered, because he wasn’t attracted to Harry, of course not! Harry was a weirdo with angel bites (ironic, bearing in mind that stepping within a one hundred metre radius of anything church-related earnt him the filthiest looks you’ve ever seen in your life) and too many bracelets, and eyeliner, and he hated Louis anyway! He’d practically thrown him bodily out of the shop, for God’s sake – and yeah, maybe Louis had deserved it, he could see that now, but still.

These were the kind of thoughts that had been weighing him down for days, and he wasn’t concentrating on anything very much at the moment. Least of all his little sisters, who were jostling each other and hissing so-called taboo insults – pig, dog, monkey, a whole menagerie of animals to compare each other to – which was why he struggled to drag himself out of his reverie when he noticed that Phoebe was no longer trotting along beside him and leaning around his legs to yell at her sister. 

Disorientated, he stopped dead and looked around, and relief shot through him when he spotted her only a few feet away, hovering on the edge of the pavement and looking both mutinous and martyred, which was something of an accomplishment. Louis had no idea how she managed that. She was holding her head high, her bottom lip sticking out, and he felt extremely uneasy at how close she was to the road.

“Phoebe, come here –”  
“I hate her,” she shrieked indignantly, pointing at her slightly ashamed-looking twin sister, “and she was calling me names and you weren’t even listening, and I hate you both! I’m going to tell mum!”  
“Okay, whatever, fine by me,” Louis said impatiently, “but for goodness sake come back here, it’s dangerous to play in the road –”  
Phoebe cried, “I’m not standing with her!” and then she turned and rushed right into the road without so much as a glance either way to check whether any traffic was coming (which it most definitely was; an enormous lorry with a cab so high-up that it would never be able to see the tiny blonde girl was lurching towards her, weighed down with some kind of enormous weighty cargo).  
Louis’ heart leapt into his mouth, and by instinct, he lurched uselessly forwards, grabbing at the thin air she had just vacated as if he could grab the back of her luminous pink coat, crying out in utter panic, “PHOEBE!”

He waited for the high-pitched scream and the squeal of brakes, waited for his sister’s small body to vanish underneath the lorry, waited for her shriek to be joined by his and Daisy’s as they watched the monstrosity crush her. 

But just as he was wishing that he could close his eyes so he didn’t have to watch, as if from nowhere, a hand reached out and grabbed the back of her coat by the fur-lined hood, yanking her backwards. They barely heard Phoebe’s squeak of protest over the sound of the lorry’s horn blaring aggressively in reprimand for the figure who had just appeared in the road, swung the little girl up into his arms and gotten a decent grip on her, waiting for her legs to tighten around his skinny hips. Shrugging apologetically at the irate driver, he jogged back over to where Louis stood feeling almost faint with relief, Daisy clinging to his hand so hard he was surprised he could still feel it, and neatly placed Phoebe on the pavement in front of him, where she slid down his legs, swayed in shock for a moment and then allowed her gaze to flicker upwards to meet Louis’ own shell-shocked expression.  
“One of yours, I believe?” Harry asked mildly.

Louis could only answer with a strangled gasp of “Phoebe!”   
She staggered forwards and wrapped her arms around his legs, burying her face in his stomach, apparently lost for words. He felt her little pink-clad body shuddering against him for a few seconds with an awful stab of horror, imagining how it would have felt to see the insides of his little sister spurt messily all over the road – and then he remembered the reason why they hadn’t, and his head snapped up to look at Harry, who was still standing there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his black jeans, carefully watching Phoebe like he thought she might be about to dive back into the road again.  
“Never do that again, okay?” His fingers dug into the back of her coat and gripped hard, and Phoebe didn’t complain for once; she stayed hanging onto his legs. Louis felt his throat burning as he realized that he could have just lost his little sister, and his head fiercely snapped up as he looked at Harry. “You saved her.”  
He shrugged self-consciously and shifted his weight, staring at the floor. “Well, I wasn’t exactly going to let her get squished, was I? What sort of person do you think I am?”  
“A far better one than I am, apparently.” Forget his throat; his whole body burned now with shame for the things he had said, the outpouring of anger and misery he had provoked when he had blindly lashed out and managed to hit Harry’s one weak spot. Almost as if they’d never had the conversation, Harry’s face was impassive, but Louis thought he saw a tightness in his eyes. “You just saved my baby sister’s life. How can I ever make it up to you?”  
“I’m not a baby,” Phoebe squawked indignantly, but they both ignored her.  
“I don’t need repaying. But if you were to be a little more open-minded in the future, that might be nice,” said Harry levelly.  
Okay, so that was a bit of a low blow, but nothing more than he deserved. “It’s a deal,” Louis said, and he shook Harry’s hand because he wanted to get across that he wasn’t bothered about essentially holding hands with him and was determined to get over the whole thing. Harry’s hand was far bigger than his, pale and quite warm, but not unpleasantly so, and his skin was smooth. Louis’ thumb skimmed over his knuckles and he felt surprised at how nice the sensation was.  
A huge grin danced across Harry’s face, like Louis had made his day with one simple gesture. “Well, that’s okay, then. Consider your debt repaid. And you didn’t even have to sell me your soul.” He raised his eyebrows teasingly.  
“Louis?” Daisy was tugging on his sleeve with round eyes, staring open-mouthed at Harry. “Who’s that?”  
“This is Harry,” Louis told her, “and he just saved your sister’s life, so you might want to say thank you.” He wasn’t sure whether his sister had been listening to his mother say awful things about Harry, and he was pretty certain that if she said something awful, he was going to give her a serious telling-off once Harry was out of earshot.

Thankfully, she did nothing of the sort. Uncertainly, she took a few steps forward, then hurled her arms around him and squeezed him very hard. Shocked, Harry blinked, and his hands landed on her shoulders in alarm as if he thought she was trying to hurt him and was about to push him away – but as she buried her face in the loose black material of his obscure band t-shirt, Harry’s face softened and he carefully hugged her back.

Daisy looked up at him. “Thank you for saving Phoebe,” she said solemnly, and Louis felt strangely emotional at the sight of his little sister giving this complete stranger a hug, despite the appearance that so many people found alarming. It was true that kids could be so much less judgemental than adults if they weren’t taught to be so harsh.  
Beside Louis, Phoebe was peeking at Harry, and she slowly turned around and looked at him with interest, her eyes scanning him up and down. Louis sent a little prayer that she would emulate her sister and not say anything rude.  
“I like your tattoos,” she said innocently. “What does this one say?”  
Harry’s eyes lit up like it was his birthday and she’d just given him the present he’d always wanted. “It says ‘love me or hate me, both are in my favour…If you love me, I'll always be in your heart…If you hate me, I'll always be in your mind’.”  
She blinked. “That’s sad. But I like it. What about this one?” She tapped the inside of his right wrist, and Louis saw two intertwined male gender symbols with a five-point star around them, and then underneath in neat printed writing, I can’t change. He felt a little bit worried about that one – he wasn’t sure how Harry was going to explain his sexuality to them, or how they would react to it. It wasn’t something his mother had ever seen fit to talk to them about.  
“That’s to show that people fall in love, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Harry said gently, “and that when I fall in love, I’m not going to listen to what people say about me, because that doesn’t matter...I can’t change who I am. And I don’t want to.” 

Louis really hoped his eyes weren’t shining quite so brightly as he thought they were, because he’d never heard anything so melancholy and yet so accepting in his whole life, and with a lump in his throat he realized that he’d taken one look at Harry Styles and judged him at face value – and he’d been completely wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t believe that it makes any difference to God who you fall in love with – there’s so many atrocities in this world, he must be so busy trying to fix everything that’s broken...I can’t see how he would have time to bother about something like that. There’s so little happiness that I think he’d probably be glad of two more people being happy. That’s why I can’t understand why everyone takes such an exception to my sexuality.”

Louis had managed to palm off Daisy and Phoebe onto one of his mother’s friends, and he’d asked Harry if maybe he wouldn’t mind coming and sitting with him in the park for a while, because he kind of wanted to talk. And surprisingly, Harry had agreed, which was why they now happened to be sat on a peeling park bench, several inches apart, tearing up bread that someone had left after feeding the ducks and throwing it to the pigeons while Harry explained his views on both religion and sexuality. Louis had to admit that he was captivated, hearing someone else’s point of view so simply and reasonably put across. It felt weird to know that rather than all of the issues being black and white like he’d always been taught, there might be a kind of murky grey in between all of those arguments.

“Have you never ever looked at someone who’s the same gender as you and thought that they’re attractive? Like...you’ve never had thoughts of anything more than friendship towards any other guy, ever?”  
Louis swallowed. With the only boy whose mouth, eyes, hands and jawline he had ever been attracted to sitting so closely to him, watching him so intensely, it was hard to remember that he was completely not into the male species and had absolutely no interest in romantic involvement with anyone who didn’t possess a pair of boobs.   
“Uh...I don’t know. Maybe fleetingly...” He couldn’t meet Harry’s gaze, couldn’t look at him, daren’t give any form of indication that he’d had exactly those kind of thoughts towards this boy who he barely knew and had been struggling to try and dislike only a few days back –   
Harry understood. One of his hands landed on Louis’ knee and he squeezed supportively.  
“It’s hard to get your head around, I know. But it doesn’t change you in any way other than relationships, not really. I’m still the same guy I’ve always been – a little braver now, perhaps. The fact is, people love to have a scapegoat, and if you’re what society perceives as different, then you perfectly fit the bill. People don’t like me because I’m not like them. I could quite easily change, make life easier for myself, but that’s not who I am. I don’t want to lie to myself. I’m happy with how I am, and I don’t see why God shouldn’t be.”  
Louis didn’t like to admit it, but he was somewhat in awe of this attitude which, to him, seemed completely radical. “But aren’t you afraid?”  
Surprised, Harry’s green eyes alighted on Louis’ face and he blinked, taken aback. “Of what?”  
“Like...what if you’re wrong? What if there’s some kind of divine retribution for you being this way? The Bible says –”  
“I don’t believe in the Bible,” Harry said firmly. “I don’t like its principles. It seems too much like Chinese whispers to me, or fairy stories. Besides, who wrote the Bible? God didn’t write it. It was written by some men who reckoned they knew what God wanted. Anyway, Jews believe in the first half of the Bible, but not the second, right? They believe in the Old Testament but not the new. Well, I don’t believe in any of it.”  
Louis was horrified. “If my mother were here right now, she would tell you that you’re going straight to hell for that statement.”  
Defiantly, Harry lifted his chin, looked him right in the eyes, and said clearly, “That’s a shame, since I don’t believe in hell, either.”  
“You don’t believe in hell?”  
“Nope. Shoot me,” Harry said cheerfully.  
“Then...what do you think happens when you die? Say I did shoot you; what then? Where would you go?”  
Harry shrugged. “Who knows? Reincarnation? Heaven? Scattered into nothingness? I don’t know, but I don’t believe that a place like hell exists. There’re so many foul things on the earth already, like wars and poverty and starvation and insanity and people who hurt each other, that making anything worse just seems beyond cruel. God’s supposed to love everyone, even the bad people. Don’t you think he’d rather invest his energies into helping them, rather than punishing them?”  
“People do awful things, and you’re saying they shouldn’t suffer for it?”  
“Of course they should. But for the most part, we have a justice system, and it’s worked. People get their penance sooner or later. And I don’t think God sees it that way. Besides, it’s a very grey area anyway, when you look at it. If someone rapes a man’s daughter, and that man hunts him down and beats him so hard that he dies, isn’t that a little bit justified? It’s revenge, and he still gets locked up for it, but if he was only protecting his family, then does he deserve to be punished in the same way as the rapist, who did it without provocation? Why would God risk lumping everyone into the same boat when everyone has different reasons behind their actions? If breaking one of the ten commandments sends you to hell, Louis, then we’re all screwed.”  
Violently, Louis shook his head and folded his arms, scowling. “Not me.” He faltered a little, realized with a jolt that perhaps that wasn’t strictly true, then relented and corrected himself, “well. Maybe me. But not my parents,” he said confidently.  
Harry raised an eyebrow and it vanished underneath a thick layer of curly hair. “When you were little, did you believe in Santa?”  
“How is that relevant?”  
“You’ll see. Did you believe in him? Did your parents tell you wonderful stories about Father Christmas travelling all around the world in one night and giving presents to good children and skipping over the bad ones? Did they tell you to write Christmas lists so he’d know what to bring you? Because your parents told you so, did you believe beyond all doubt that Santa exists?”  
“Yes,” answered Louis hollowly.  
“And does he?”  
“...No.”  
“Exactly!” Harry cried. “There’s not one person on this planet who hasn’t lied or stolen or coveted or whatever. The ten commandments are totally unrealistic. Hell would fill up pretty quick if they dictated who was a good person and who wasn’t judging by a few stone tablets with idealistic rules on them that nobody follows. Just think about it.”  
“Okay, fine. But what about being gay?” Louis asked almost pleadingly, because Harry was answering a lot of questions he’d never realized he desperately needed the answers for, and he was making sense. He was like Louis’ own moral Google Translate, explaining so many things to him that Louis was understanding with perfect clarity and maybe even beginning to agree with. “Are you not afraid that God will judge you for it?”  
“Remind me what the Bible says about being gay. You find me somewhere in that book where it says ‘Thou shalt not be homosexual.’ I love who I love, Louis, and it’s no one else’s business, not even God’s. If it makes me happy, what’s so wrong with it? I’m not hurting anyone, I’m not doing anything wrong. One day, I’ll find a guy and I’ll fall in love with him, and if God is what everyone believes him to be, all-good and all-loving, then he’ll be happy for me. And so will everyone else who matters.”  
Visibly, Louis hesitated, and Harry looked at him for a while with a very strange expression on his face – almost like he was sorry for him. Louis didn’t understand the pity in Harry’s gaze, nor did he want it – had it been a hand, he would have shrugged it off, had they been sitting closely together he would have inched away, but he didn’t know how he could stop Harry looking at him.  
“Don’t look at me like that!”  
“Like what?”  
“Like you’re sorry for me. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”  
“Well, I am. And on the contrary; there’s lots of reasons to be sorry for you.” Leaning back against the bench, Harry tilted his face towards the sky and shook his head. “You want to know what I think people are like? Think about a whiteboard. When you’re born, you’re just like a little whiteboard – and people pick up their pens and teach you things and write their ideas and opinions all over you, and those opinions kind of become yours, because it’s all you know. Most of them come from your parents, because let’s face it, who else do you hang out with when you’re a baby? Then, you start to grow up. You go to school, you make friends. You learn new things from new people, and your opinions change, and it’s like someone wipes a little bit of the whiteboard clean and writes something else there instead.” Harry sat up and looked at him seriously with a solemn expression. “Do you understand what I’m talking about, Louis? It’s like your parents have taken your whiteboard and scribbled all over it in permanent marker, so it’ll take a hell of a lot of scrubbing to get it off. You’ve grown used to their ideas and their feelings so that everything they’ve written is fixated in your head. But it’s not unfixable, you know. The writing’s smudging already. Before long you’ll have your own ideas starting to leak through...”  
“What are you trying to say? You make it sound like I’m not allowed to think for myself! What would you know about it anyway, you don’t know me! You don’t know my family! Who do you think you are?”  
“I just want to help you,” Harry said softly, “that is, if you’ll let me, which at the moment I think you’re too scared to do.”  
“Scared! I’m not scared. You think you can try and confuse me with a bunch of analogies and pretty words and psychological rubbish, but I know my own mind and I know who I am, and I know you don’t know a thing about me or my family. I don’t have to listen to this!” Furiously, Louis got to his feet, fists clenched, chest heaving, and then he shot Harry the filthiest look known to man, turned his back on him and began storming towards the park gates without looking back.

The wind blew a little cloud of leaves into his face, and he growled and swiped them angrily away as he kept going, stalking towards the exit because he would never admit it, but he was a little worried that perhaps Harry did know what he was talking about – he loved his parents, but they weren’t the most tolerant of people, and disagreeing with their opinions never ended well. The wind snatched at his hair and pulled it out of the style he’d carefully arranged it in; it also carried Harry’s words in its wake, words that he ought to have been too far away to hear, but that reached his ears with perfect clarity. 

“Like it or not, the writing is already fading, Louis,” Harry called after him. “You’re going to stop believing in them sooner or later. I suggest you think very carefully about what you’re going to do when you realize just how wrong they are.”  
His teeth clenched, and he walked a little faster, hurrying out of earshot as fast as his legs would carry him.  
“Let me know when you need some help rewriting the whiteboard!” Harry yelled.

~*~

He decided never to talk to Harry again. Not only was he openly blasphemous and completely unashamed to admit that he believed in God mainly in a sense that would benefit him, but he also made Louis feel uncomfortable. He refused to be attracted to the boy, it simply wasn’t going to happen. And he didn’t like the thought that Harry Styles might put new and frightening ideas into his head. Ideas that might get him into trouble with either of the higher authorities he deferred to, namely his parents and God.

This was why he had thrown himself back into other pursuits that would be an excellent distraction, and the first one that came to mind was some form of sports. Liam, his best friend and partner in crime, was in so many different sports’ clubs that Louis was amazed he found time to do anything that didn’t involve exercise, even though he always managed near-perfect schoolwork and homework (albeit with a few spelling mistakes) so it didn’t take a lot of effort to get himself accepted into a few extra-curricular activities, namely badminton and football. Liam was surprised by his change of attitude towards school clubs, but nonetheless delighted, and Louis elected not to tell him exactly what had been the deciding factor behind his decision.

When Louis headed onto the football pitch, hobbling a little in the boots he hadn’t put on for at least two years and which were decidedly pinching his toes, Liam was waiting for him with an enormous grin and a one-armed hug that Louis accepted gratefully. With his closely cropped hair and the trademark friendly expression that never seemed to leave his face, Liam was the only truly calming influence in Louis’ life – and one he desperately needed. 

“You changed your tune,” observed Liam as they both began stretching off. “I thought you’d sworn off the football pitch forever.”  
“Yeah, well.” Louis bent down on the pretence of checking that his shoelaces were correctly tied, and when his eyes were safely glued to the ground, he murmured, “I’ve had a change of heart about an awful lot of things lately.”  
There was a short pause whilst Liam tried to decide whether or not he ought to probe Louis for details of some kind; he chose to keep quiet and allow Louis a little privacy, for which Louis was extremely grateful. “Well, it’s good to have you back on the team. I’ve missed having you around at these kinds of things.”  
Louis would be eternally grateful towards Liam’s amazing skill for knowing when it was not okay to pry, and he kind of wanted to give him another hug, but he thought that might be a bit weird. He straightened up and thumped Liam on the back instead as a way of expressing his feelings, and Liam whirled around and cheerfully ruffled his carefully styled quiff, reducing it to a rapidly collapsing mess. Making a playfully outraged sound, Louis pretended to kick him, only to be interrupted by a piercing whistle from the other side of the pitch.  
“Tomlinson!” roared their football coach from across the pitch. He rarely spoke to anyone, preferring to commune through roaring or bellowing or hollering right in your face, although he was pleasant enough if you could disregard the flying spit and yelling. “It’s good to have you back, Tomlinson! But I don’t want any malingering at this practice! The only game you’re here to play is football! I don’t want any funny business! Now get to work, boys!” Then he kicked the ball across the pitch, and it landed neatly in Louis’ hands.  
Nodding at Liam, Louis drop-kicked the ball and then started jogging after it with far more enthusiasm than he’d expected, and Liam followed him, looking pleased by his contribution. With the wind running through his hair, the ground beneath his feet and his control of the ball not at all shoddy bearing in mind the closest he’d come to one within the last couple of years had been the odd kick-about in the garden with Lottie or Fizzy, it was hard to remember why he’d ever elected to leave the football pitch (When he staggered, sore-limbed, muddy and exhausted, with sweaty hair and clothes, into the changing rooms later, and had to jump into one of the freezing cold school showers and become a figurative snowman in order to end up feeling clean and vaguely human afterwards, he would remember exactly why, but he was trying not to think about that.) 

He was warming up nicely, enjoying himself, in fact, and Liam seemed to echo the sentiment. They practiced their skills mostly before dividing into a little five-a-side match, and Louis scored two and a half goals (the half actually wasn’t a goal, but it sort of went in before the goalie kicked it out so everyone kindly agreed that it was a half.) By the time they were told, Louis was feeling pleased with himself and, amazingly, barely noticed how ridiculously cold the shower was. 

He and Liam emerged shivering from the changing rooms, with wet hair and beads of frigid water rolling down their faces, and as Louis pulled a jumper over his head they made plans to work on their geography homework together at Liam’s house the next day. Then they headed down to the local coffee shop and Louis took his coffee black and without sugar even though he preferred it with milk and so sugary his teeth were in danger of rotting, because he didn’t have much money on him and it was cheaper that way. All he really needed was something hot and wet to pour down his throat, and his bitter black coffee fitted the bill. Liam offered to pay for his, but Louis waved him away; he didn’t like owing people money.

“Go on, then,” Liam said, and took a sip of his tea through pursed lips, taking care not to slurp. Like an old woman, Louis thought, and then he smirked, because Liam did have an unfortunately old fashioned way of drinking cups of tea. Aside from sticking his little finger out, he couldn’t have appeared more posh if he tried.  
This thought distracted Louis, and by the time he resurfaced and realized that Liam was patiently awaiting some kind of answer, he’d completely forgotten what had been said before. “Er, what?” he asked weakly, and then took a hurried gulp of his coffee like he half expected someone to take it away from him.  
“Where’ve you been over the last couple of days? And what are your motives behind joining the team again after nearly two years of refusing to set foot on the football pitch? You were lucky to be let back in, you know. What are you playing at, Louis?”  
“Football,” Louis answered with a smirk.  
Liam poked out his tongue. “Yeah, yeah, believe it or not I did actually manage to work that one out for myself. You know what I mean, Lou. Why have you suddenly decided that you want to come back onto the football team after all this time? What changed your mind?”  
Louis yelped and almost dropped his polystyrene coffee-cup; in his haste to drink it quickly, he’d burnt his tongue. Muttering crossly to himself, he carefully placed the offending cup in front of him on the table and poked his tongue out to examine the intensity of the scalding, like he half expected it to be blistering in front of his eyes. “I don’t know, really. I just felt like I was getting lazy and out of shape, so I figured rejoining a couple of sports teams would help.” It was a lie, and he usually tried to avoid those, but he crossed his fingers underneath the table and hoped that counted as negating the falsehood.  
“You always said you hated football. You used to come out aching and covered in mud and say it was pathetic, running around on a field chasing a ball around and getting all sweaty and for what? Nothing but the bragging rights of scoring a goal. I don’t get it, what changed your mind?”  
Perhaps it was something to with the fact that when choosing an extra-curricular activity in order to distract himself from the helpless pull of the attraction he was feeling towards a certain curly-haired individual, some faint echo of Louis’ subconscious had told him that he probably ought to choose an extremely masculine sport, just to give off an appropriately manly vibe, and despite his general loathing for the turn of events that football brought about which had been slowly developing since his teens, he was pretty sure he could ignore it for the sake of having something to keep him thinking of a certain weirdly moralistic punk.   
“Oh, Liam, I’m not really sure. I just need to remember who I am, you know? I’ve kind of been drifting lately...I just needed a sort of reminder of who Louis Tomlinson is, who he should be. I need something to pinpoint who I am.”  
“The Louis Tomlinson I know doesn’t play football,” Liam reminded him, “and hasn’t done since he was what? Sixteen? The Louis Tomlinson I know doesn’t take his coffee so black that it’s practically liquid mud, or force himself to play sports he doesn’t like, or lie to his best friend.” He fixed Louis with a stern glance which instantly made Louis feel ashamed of himself, although he had no idea how Liam had realized that he was lying.   
Raking a hand through his messy hair, Louis wrinkled his nose and took a long sip of coffee. “Well, maybe I’m trying to be the Louis Tomlinson I used to be. My parents aren’t really happy with who I’ve become lately – they thought that going off to holiday camp would help, but it really hasn’t. In fact, it might have made me worse. I’m tired of seeing them looking worriedly at me all the time – I want to be the son they used to think the sun shone out of, and if I have to do the old Louis things in order to get that back, then I will.”  
“You can’t change yourself just to suit other people, Louis. It’ll make you miserable, if nothing else. What’s the point in messing yourself around to try and make your parents see you as their little boy again? It’s not going to work, and you’ll just get yourself down trying. You’ve grown up, Louis, you’ve changed, and you can’t reverse it, so you might as well just work with it. You’re still their son at the end of the day. They still love you.”  
“I’m changing too much, and far too quickly,” Louis said softly, “and it’s not only them who wishes I could be the same person I used to be. I’m confused, Li. Lately I’ve been feeling things I never expected to feel, and my perspective on everything is changing, and I’m not comfortable with the way things are going, but how can I stop it? This is my way of coping.”  
“It’ll be okay,” Liam promised, looking him right in the eyes – and how could Louis not trust him, with his brown irises looking so sincere and knowing, so honest, like he understood absolutely everything even though he had no idea how much of a mess Louis’ head was in at the moment. “You’ll always be their Louis, and you’ll always be my Louis, no matter what you think or what you...believe in,” he finished carefully.   
“Believe in?” Forehead creasing, Louis asked, “what do you mean, believe in?”  
Liam bit his lip. “Louis...we’re growing up, we’re finding out things for ourselves and getting taught things in school and...it’s perfectly normal to have...doubts. I know we always thought we’d be concrete in our beliefs and our parents would never expect it of us, but agnosticism is actually more common than you’d –”  
“Agnosticism?” Louis squeaked. His chair legs squealed on the floor as he shoved back a few inches from the table in abject horror. “What the h – what on earth are you implying here, Liam?”  
“I’m just saying that it’s actually quite common to start questioning your beliefs when you get to a certain –”  
“I’m not doubting God! What, are you insane?” Louis was appalled. “Out of all the things I could be confused about now, and you doubt that? I still believe in God, one hundred per cent. I’m just ...not so sure about all of his principles right now. Or whether everyone has correctly interpreted what he actually wants. I’ve been talking to someone with an...interesting perspective on things, and I’m starting to wonder...if maybe all the things I’ve believed in for so long aren’t entirely correct. Maybe I’ve been living my life all wrong, Liam. What do I do? How do I start again? How do I...rewrite myself?” He was giving in to Harry’s strange philosophy, and it was all so strange and yet it made sense at the same time. Louis was well and truly confused.   
“Honestly? I don’t know. But Lou, one thing I do know is that you’ll always be my best mate, you can count on that. And your parents will always be your parents. So no matter what you do, I’ll always be there, and so will they. You know that, don’t you?”  
Louis gazed down at his coffee like he was contemplating drowning himself in it, then resignedly reached across and nabbed the sugar bowl off the table beside them. After he’d poured at least a quarter of the contents of the sugar bowl into his coffee in the hope of giving himself a sugar rush equivalent of an all-night binge-drinking session when it came to giddiness, he looked up gloomily with eyes so tired that you’d never have realized he was consuming a caffeine-based drink and said, “I trust you.” His parents, however, were another matter. He knew it was awful to be afraid that his parents would hate him just for changing his mind about something, but he couldn’t help it.  
“You can only do your best, Louis,” Liam said softly. “Just...be who you want to be. They’ll come to terms with it soon enough. Remember; those who mind don’t matter, and –”  
“Those who matter don’t mind,” Louis finished. “Yeah, I know.”

He turned away from Liam and started staring out of the window so that Liam wouldn’t notice how badly his hand was shaking as he raised his overly sugary coffee back to his lips.

No matter how many times somebody repeats an old saying, it doesn’t stop the people who mind mattering to you, does it? 

The one mental image he was struggling most with was one of Harry’s accusing eyes as Louis had yelled at him, judged him and hurled abuse at him, and all over a misunderstanding. According to the saying, he now shouldn’t matter to Harry at all. But the problem was that he wanted to matter.


	6. Chapter 6

It was cold, so Louis had his arms wrapped around himself to try and regain a little warmth, and it had been raining on and off for the past hour, so it was damp, so he was hurrying home, not paying much attention to his surroundings, so really it was a miracle that he spotted the little flurry of sparks coming from a nearby alleyway out of the corner of his eye.

He paused, tilted his head to one side and glanced down the alleyway with interest, torn between curiosity and wariness; he’d never been one to go charging off towards suspicious circumstances just in case something untoward happened. But when another light flickered down the nearby alleyway, a tiny pinpoint of brightness in the darkness, he couldn’t help but turn curiously towards it and take a hesitant step forwards. Nibbling his lip, Louis slowly moved towards the entrance of the alleyway and froze when he heard an all-too familiar voice mutter a profanity. 

A little stunned, Louis dazedly shook his head and then stood perfectly still, listening out for another mumble, to see if he’d perhaps misheard the voice. The next sound that greeted his ears wasn’t a human voice; it was a steely scrape of metal on metal, accompanied with another flare of light – and then an ill-tempered growl when the flame went out once more. Abandoning all hope of it being someone other than the boy he’d been so valiantly determined to avoid, Louis closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths and then edged forwards into the alleyway just in time to see an attractive face lit up by yet another flash of a cigarette lighter.

This time the lighter miraculously stayed lit, giving Louis an excellent view of Harry’s face. The flickering light accentuated his cheekbones and made his piercings glint a little eerily; his forehead was furrowed in concentration underneath the thick curls falling across his forehead. A cigarette was clamped fiercely between his plump lips, and he appeared to be trying to light it one-handed, with very little success; the other hand was cupped around the cigarette to stop it from going out once he’d actually managed to light it. Having managed to persuade the lighter to ignite, Harry touched it to the end of his cigarette, but it remained firmly unlit. He swore colourfully, words muffled by the cigarette, shook his hair out of his eyes, and tried again.

Louis had always despised cigarettes, and he despised even more the thought of Harry Styles attacking his own lungs and turning them black with chemicals, ending up with yellow fingernails and teeth and basically endangering his own health – but on the other hand, it was hard to ignore the fact that he looked sinfully good with a suicide stick caught between his lips. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded, too taken aback to remember that Harry had no idea that he was stood there staring creepily at him and that it was probably a bit weird to be standing there gazing at him, bearing in mind that he was just trying to quietly light up in a backstreet alleyway. Then again, he was trying to quietly light up in a backstreet alleyway, which suggested that nobody else knew he smoked, and if Louis had an opportunity to strike up a conversation with him, even in the name of being completely pious, he was hardly going to let it pass him by.

Harry jumped out of his skin, his carefully cultivated flame went out, and his mouth fell open; he yelped and managed to catch the still determinedly unlit cigarette before it hit the ground. Then he stared open mouthed at Louis, the metal ring through his lower lip flashing. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, sounding a little put-out. (Like his cigarette, then.) “Still yelling at me, I see. I don’t suppose you’ve come to ask my help in cleaning the whiteboard, have you?”   
Louis ignored the question; it wasn’t as if Harry was expecting an answer. “I suppose you think you’re cool, don’t you? Standing there, with that thing in your mouth. What on earth are you doing with it, anyway?”  
“Smoking it,” said Harry helpfully.  
“Yeah, looks like it.” After a few moments, Louis couldn’t help but comment, “Novice, huh?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong – I mean, I don’t speak from any kind of personal experience – but you don’t seem to be having much luck when it comes to lighting it, do you?”  
Harry shrugged. “I’m trying to start up a smoking habit. I’m sure I’ll get better with practice.”  
“Why would you want to start up a smoking habit? Hoping for an early grave, are we?”  
“I’m just providing yet another reason for people like you to dislike me,” Harry answered mildly, “as if the piercings, clothing, and general disregard for other people’s opinions wasn’t enough to inspire hatred in practically everyone I’ve ever met, now did you want something, or are you just going to lecture me on how you think I should live my life? Because I’m really not in the mood.”  
After a moment’s hesitation, Louis closed his eyes and admitted, “I wanted to talk to you about... your whiteboard theory. Well. I don’t want to talk about it, but I don’t suppose there’s much point in trying to avoid it any longer, not now it’s already begun. I’m fighting a losing battle.”  
“Well, that sounds enigmatic.” But Harry pulled a cigarette packet out of the pocket of his jeans and went to put the still unlit cigarette back. “I don’t suppose there’s much point in asking if you want one, is there?” He rolled his eyes, and without waiting for Louis’ disgusted retort, replaced the rolled up paper tube and shoved the packet back into his pocket, following it with the lighter. Once he’d done that, he turned every bit of his attention on Louis, and all of a sudden, it felt like Louis was struggling to hold himself together, because for once someone was listening to him without a single ounce of judgement in their eyes, someone who couldn’t go running off to tell his parents (which was always a risk with Liam, although he never sincerely believed Liam would betray him in that way), someone who might understand his situation and be able to help him understand it in return, or maybe even do something about it. Struggling not to burst into tears, he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a little noise that was frighteningly like a sob – and no matter how quickly he turned away, he couldn’t avoid the alarm that flashed across Harry’s face.

“Louis?”  
“How did you know you were gay?” Louis asked half desperately, too distraught to be tactful.  
Thoughtfully, the younger boy replied, “I don’t think it was ever something I had to realize, specifically. I was never interested in girls in that way. My first crush was on a boy, my first kiss was with a boy, the first time I had sex was with a boy. Well, a man, I suppose; he was a few years older than me, but that’s not really the point. When all my mates were talking about the hot girl at the corner shop, I was more interested in the cute guy on the Sainsburys checkout. All the guys at school pinned Cheryl Cole and Megan Fox to their walls; my pinups were Brandon Flowers and, I don’t know, Johnny Depp. Whatever. My point is, it’s never really been a point of confusion to me, who or what I liked.” After a moment’s hesitation, he questioned gently, “I take it you’ve been having feelings for another guy.”  
He fought to keep his voice level, but hearing someone actually say those words out loud had a bubble of hysteria forming in the back of his throat that he struggled to subdue, and his voice grated a little as he admitted weakly, “Yeah.”  
“It doesn’t automatically have to mean what you’re thinking, you know. I know plenty of people who’ve been attracted to guys and it doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural thing, just your body figuring out who and what you want. It might pass, in time.”  
“Yeah, and it might not.” Louis rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, and said, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so worried about it, usually. I mean, this guy...is the first guy I’ve ever really looked at and thought, ‘wow’. He’s the first guy I’ve ever thought of...in that way. I’ve never looked at anyone else who was the same gender as me and been attracted to them.” Harry was nodding, so Louis took the plunge and burst out “but I’ve never actually found a girl who I thought was pretty enough to make me take a second look.”  
“Perhaps you could try making a comparison,” Harry suggested. “It’s hard to get a proper opinion of something until you’ve tried it both ways, right?” They both winced a little at his choice of words, and Harry pulled a face. “I take it you have kissed a girl before, right?”

He had – not that it had really been an experience worth repeating. It was at a New Years’ Eve party he and his family had been invited to, and the host’s daughter, Melanie, had big blue eyes and wore too much eyeliner and a long skirt that made up for its almost archaic length by being so tight that it left pretty much nothing to the imagination; it might as well have been painted on. She cornered Louis after a couple of (sadly) non-alcoholic drinks underneath a sprig of mistletoe that someone hadn’t yet taken down, and kissed him. Her lips were sticky with strawberry-flavoured goo, and she had far too much perfume on. Her hair tickled his neck and didn’t feel very nice when it brushed against his skin. When he’d made his excuses, wiped his mouth and bolted, he remembered thinking “was that it?” and being very disappointed, because honestly? It had sucked. In the literal sense; she obviously hadn’t heard that you were supposed to avoid mimicking a vacuum cleaner.   
He nodded, and Harry said, “Well, then, maybe you should try and make a comparison. You could try kissing a guy – other than the guy who you’re attracted to, of course – and see which you like better. What’s the harm in that?”  
Louis couldn’t help it; he snorted. “Great idea. It works in theory, but in principal? Where am I going to find a guy who’ll let me plant a snog on him? Ninety per cent of the guys I know think homosexuality is the equivalent of devil-worship; if I asked them for a kiss, they’d tie me up and start trying to exorcise me or something.”  
“What about me?”  
Shocked, Louis felt his head jerk and his cheeks betrayed him, flooding bright pink. “You?”  
“I’m a guy, aren’t I?”  
Louis’ next reaction was to laugh shakily. “Yeah, I figured. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think kissing you is exactly going to help me figure out whether this guy is just a one-off either.”  
“Why not?”  
For a moment, Louis despaired over whether Harry was deliberately playing dumb or whether he really was just being a lot less obvious than he thought (which he supposed was a good thing, in retrospect) but then he pretty much gave up on hinting and decided he might as well spell it out, because both he and Harry needed to hear it said out loud.  
“Because you’re the guy, idiot!”

Harry stayed silent. His green eyes were like shards of a broken wine bottle, softened a little with compassion and a little bit of something else that Louis couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it still felt like they were tearing him to shreds and examining his insides, pulling all of his secrets out through the gashes, the chinks they were boring into his armour. He pushed his curls out of his eyes and ran his tongue over his lip piercing almost contemplatively, but he didn’t comment. Louis kind of wished he would.

“I thought you hated me,” Harry said eventually. “Bearing in mind that most of our conversations seem to begin with you yelling at me and end with you storming off in a huff acting all self-righteous and holier-than-thou, I didn’t think it was an unfair assumption.”  
“I tried,” Louis said helplessly. “I’m supposed to hate you, but I have no idea what’s going on in my head any more, and lately, you’re the only thing that’s been making sense. Your crazy theories. Your attitude. The way you see things. I understand, and I think I’m starting to agree, and I really don’t know what to do next.”  
“Kiss me,” Harry suggested.  
Louis’ mouth fell open. “Wha – I –”  
Harry’s eyes blazed and burned as he advanced a step forwards on Louis, the light catching the metal through his face and making him look dangerous but so, so gorgeous, it was unfair. It made Louis wobble a little; he tried to put out a hand and grab the wall to support himself, but his fingertips found only empty air. And Harry was still coming, prowling forwards with a fierce expression that just made Louis want to slam him up against a wall and ravage his throat until it was covered with bruise-like marks, to show that he was in charge, and Harry could look like that all he liked, because Louis called the shots. The desire threw him off even more, making his head spin with the intensity of it. Since when had he ever felt like this?  
“Kiss. Me.” Harry growled.

No, Louis thought, but Yes please, said his body, and all of a sudden he had hurled himself at Harry and grabbed him by the waist and yanked him forwards, feeling slender hip bones ram into his stomach as they collided, and Harry’s unexpectedly heavy, warm weight knocked all the breath out of him. He had to stretch up on his tiptoes to properly reach, but Harry was perfectly willing to oblige and leaned down to shorten the distance a little faster, and all of a sudden Louis could taste bitter metal on his tongue and Harry’s lips on his, and they were warm and soft and not at all sticky, and it was like Harry had been hiding a flurry of insects inside him and breathed butterflies into his stomach, and only his firm grip on Louis’ waist stopped him from falling. 

The kiss deepened and Louis stretched up a little further on his toes for better access; he ran his tongue over Harry’s lip and tapped the ring there with the tip of his tongue, leaning forwards into the embrace. Cautiously, he twisted his cold hands into Harry’s hair, discovered that the thick curls were reassuringly warm and silky and buried his icy fingers deep in their midst, pulling the their bodies closer together so that he could feel the lighter in Harry’s pocket digging into his hip. Harry nibbled almost tenderly on Louis’ lip, his hands sliding even further around Louis’ waist until they met at the small of his back, resting there and holding him safely in place. In response, Louis’ significantly smaller hands disentangled from his curls, trailed down his neck, slid down the contours of his shoulders and ended up gripping the tops of his arms, hard enough to hurt his fingers so goodness knows what it was doing to Harry’s shoulders, but he didn’t make a single noise of complaint. His lips expertly coaxed responses from Louis’ over and over, the icy metallic bite of his lip piercing providing a bitter edge to a kiss that otherwise would have been almost unbearably sweet. Harry emanated a smell that was a mixture of aftershave, citrus shampoo and just a kind of boy smell that Louis had never really been in close enough proximity to a guy to smell before, other than Liam, and they’d been mates for long enough that he never really noticed what Liam smelled like any more. Harry dipped forwards to kiss him harder, rougher, a little more passionately, and Louis clung to him even tighter, his stomach swooping, feeling more than a little bit dizzy.

Just when Louis was beginning to wonder whether this would ever end, if he’d be stuck in a glorious limbo of fierce kisses that made his head spin and his limbs shake and his stomach become a master gymnast forever, Harry pulled away a little, gently pressed three sweet, neat little butterfly kisses to the corner of his mouth, and then leaned back a little, rubbing soothing hands down Louis’ back as if to reassure him. That was around the moment when Louis realized he was trembling. 

Harry’s eyes were bright and his mouth was flushed red, as were his cheeks, and Louis’ eyes were drawn to his mouth, with the glittering silver piercing that surprisingly made the kiss better rather than making it taste weird; he found that he liked the metallic taste in a weird kind of way. Licking his lips, Harry touched his forehead lightly to Louis’ and dipped his nose to the side of his, kissed his cheek, and then once again leaned back, judging his reaction. Once it became clear that the shaking Louis was incapable of doing anything other than quiver, was not going to start yelling at him and didn’t appear to be angry or upset in the slightest, Harry relaxed substantially and Louis sank into the hug he offered extremely gladly, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and letting the younger boy take all his weight. It was nice to be held for a little while, especially by someone who was so warm and strong and smelled so good, and was such a fantastic kisser.

Then, all of a sudden, Whoops, you just kissed a guy! slammed into Louis’ chest, hitting him like a kick to the stomach and knocking the remaining breath out of him. He visibly jerked, and Harry’s grip loosened, releasing him a little so that he could easily have tugged himself free if he so wished. He was struggling against the panic rising up inside him, the little what on earth did I just do? hammering into the insides of his skull and making him feel a little bit sick, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine disentangling himself from Harry’s long arms. He had just kissed a boy, and liked it far too much, and he wasn’t sure what to do, so he leaned against Harry and squeezed him tightly, and Harry’s light hold on him tightened a little, reassured.

“Okay?” Harry murmured, his cool breath ruffling the hair next to Louis’ ear. His hands comfortingly ran down Louis’ spine like he was a small child, soothing him. “Okay?”  
“Yeah,” Louis said breathlessly, struggling to catch his breath back; his heart was hammering nineteen to the dozen and he was still a little bit giddy. “Okay.”  
“What now?” whispered Harry, nuzzling his cheek with the tip of his nose. “You call the shots. This must be hard to get your head around, take your time. What do you want to do?”  
“I don’t know, don’t stop.”

Harry turned his head obediently and bent and kissed him again, and then the rushing in Louis’ ears drowned out the irritating little voice that had been nagging at him for the past minute or so and he sank into the younger boy’s embrace. Their lips moulded together and Louis’ fingers sifted through thick curls and the kiss took over and the only thing in the world that Louis was properly aware of was Harry’s hands on his back and his lips on Louis’ mouth...it was so easy to lose himself in that, and to forget what he was doing, that they both lost track of time and by the time they resurfaced Louis was pretty sure it had gotten an awful lot darker than it had been when they’d first closed in on each other, and he was also having a few more problems with breathing than he had been when they’d first begun. Probably because he hadn’t done it with any form of regularity for a good fifteen minutes.

Harry’s taste was something new, something Louis had never experienced before, but he knew that it was the sweetest, most addictive thing he’d ever tasted in his life and he didn’t think he’d ever be satisfied with kissing another pair of lips, not after he’d tried this. His fingers raked through Harry’s hair, skittered down his back, landed at the base of his spine and then dipped underneath his hoodie and shirt and laid to rest right in the small of his back. Harry jumped and gave a little shudder because his skin was warm and Louis’ hands were cold, but it was with a noise of approval and not of discomfort that slipped out of him as he delved closer, kissed harder, gripped more firmly. The world was all revolving around the points where their bodies connected, and Louis had been freezing because he didn’t have a coat because he’d been coming home from Liam’s and Liam’s house was only a few blocks away from his, so he’d come out in just a t-shirt and jeans and thought nothing of it, but now he was glad he’d dressed so unwisely. It felt like someone had set a match to the blood in his veins, and sparks were dancing through his bloodstream and making him hot all over, his skin burning, and the points where his body and Harry’s touched burned hottest, almost unbearably hot and yet he had no desire to quench the flames, only to make them burn brighter.

The second time they separated was with a gasp, and Louis almost smugly tilted his head back to examine his handiwork, Harry’s hold on him still firm and reassuring. To put it bluntly, Harry looked wrecked. Louis’ slender fingers had made short work of his hair, turning it into a rumpled mess of ringlets that stuck out in whichever direction they pleased, and seemed to be defying gravity, standing almost completely on end and away from his face like a curly brown halo. His pupils were so spectacularly blown out that only the thinnest band of moss-green iris could be seen encircling the inky black blot that was his pupil. The mouth Louis had kissed so feverishly was swollen and pink, and perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought the ring through Harry’s lower lip was twinkling a bit more brightly than before. Cheeks stained pink with a blush inspired by Louis’ kisses, chest heaving, Harry’s gaze was dark and heavy-lidded, and left little to the imagination about what they would be doing next if Harry had his way. A pointed pink tongue slipped out of his mouth and he licked his lips, making them glisten wetly, and Louis’ mouth fell open again with a little pop. Oh. 

If Harry looked quite so ruined by their frantic exchange, then Louis had no idea what on earth he must look like. A total mess, probably. He wasn’t sure he could pull off the gorgeous, crazed-with-lust look with quite the same finesse that Harry did. 

Of course, he couldn’t really have expected to get away unscathed; just as he was staring into Harry’s eyes almost triumphantly and really feeling incredibly pleased with himself, the little voice in his head that was becoming more and more infuriating by the minute spoke up. That’s the second time you’ve kissed a guy, it chimed gleefully, and you liked it even more the second time!

Louis wasn’t even aware of moaning until the sound had left his mouth and bounced off the walls around them, echoing a little through the quiet. Ripping himself out of Harry’s embrace, he pushed him away, blindly, clumsily, but with no real force behind the shove, and staggered back a little, slamming into a wall and thankfully leaning against it. He hid his face in his hands and made a weak little whining noise of horror. Worried, Harry stretched out a hand as if to touch him, then seemed to think better of it and retreated a little.

“Oh, God,” Louis moaned, rubbing his eyes so hard that bright colours exploded like blurry fireworks behind his eyelids. “Oh, God.” It was the first time he ever remembered using the word ‘God’ in the sense of an expletive, but in all fairness to him, he wasn’t actually completely sure whether he was cursing or praying for help.  
“Are you okay?” Biting down on one swollen lip (which was hardly beneficial when it came to Louis trying to regain a bit of control over his thoroughly scrambled thoughts) Harry looked anxiously at him and tried to figure out whether his advances and attempts to help would be welcome or not; he seemed to be struggling to make the decision of whether to act or not.   
“Oh, God. What did I just do?” Louis looked up helplessly, and all of a sudden his eyes were brimming with unexpected moisture. Bewildered, he touched one finger to his eye and stared blankly at the little salty bead of wetness that appeared there. Then he looked up and Harry and repeated in a frightened voice, “What did I just do?”  
Harry eyed his shaking legs apprehensively. “Do you want to sit down? You look kind of freaked. I don’t want you passing out on me.”  
Louis pulled a tissue out of his pocket that he was surprised but very glad to find there, wiped his eyes and then hurriedly blew his nose. “I can’t sit down,” he said thickly, “it’s been raining on and off for the past hour and a half. The ground’s soaked.”  
After a moment’s pause, Harry started tugging his hoodie over his head, and to Louis’ surprise, a few seconds later he was standing there wearing only a pair of black skinny jeans and a innocuous black t-shirt. It wasn’t even slightly torn. As Louis watched, he cast the hoodie onto the ground, where it landed in a wet patch and began looking extremely bedraggled from the moment it hit the floor, but Harry didn’t seem particularly bothered about that.  
“Sit on that. It doesn’t matter,” he said nobly.

Despite feeling like he should probably refuse, Louis decided it would be pretty obnoxious to say no now that the hoodie was already filthy and wet, so he gingerly slid down the wall and ended up sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his back hunched, his arms wrapped around his knees, emanating tension from every inch of him. Harry waited a moment and then sat beside him, leaving a decent distance between them and perching on the edge of the hoodie to give Louis some space, but Louis was pretty sure he’d rather have someone to lean on, so he tugged on Harry’s t-shirt sleeve to make him come a little closer. In the end, Harry draped a long arm around him and Louis rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, and they sat like that for a while, stealing each other’s warmth and saying nothing while Louis tried to force his spinning head to slow down at least for long enough for him to string together a few coherent sentences.  
“Have you figured any more things out yet?” Harry asked him after a while.  
Louis sighed and snuggled into Harry’s side a little more. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t think straight when I’m around you.” That was an unfortunate pun, he realized with a grim smile. But it was quickly forgotten as he lifted his head a little, placed it back down on Harry’s shoulder and confessed, “but at the same time, when I’m with you is the only time I do think clearly.”  
Harry squeezed his arm. “It may seem like a mess right now, but I promise, it’ll get easier. A few mates of mine have been through it; at first you don’t know which way to turn, but in the end, the path becomes clear. It kind of shoves itself up your nose when you’re not expecting it, actually, according to Zayn.” He chuckled, and then elaborated, “he and Niall had a thing. Nothing particularly serious, just a couple of weeks, but it was enough for Zayn to figure out he likes guys and girls, and for Niall to figure out that guys aren’t really for him. They both fancied each other for a bit, they dated, they broke up amicably, they’re still best mates. I was kind of worried about how things would turn out, but it all worked out fine in the end.”  
“I should go home. My family will be worried. I was only at Liam’s and he lives pretty much just around the corner from me.” But Louis made no move to get up or even change his position.  
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back? You don’t look the steadiest. All the blood’s drained from your face.”  
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but that’d only make things worse,” answered Louis wearily, rubbing his eyes again. “If my parents see me walking down the street with you, they’ll go nuts, and I really don’t have the energy to try and explain something like that to them right now. Especially not without lying, and I don’t like lying to my parents. Thank you, but I’ll be better off on my own. I really need to think.”  
“Sure, sure. I get that. We might need to talk sooner than you think, though; we can’t just keep running into each other randomly all the time. Fate’s only going to take us so far; we have to give her a helping hand.” Harry flashed a lopsided grin, then pulled a pen out of his pocket and pulled Louis’ arm towards him. “Here.” The pen came down and started tickling Louis’ skin, and he had to fight off a fit of nervous giggles as he watched the neat blue lines start forming on his wrist. In his giddy state, he couldn’t make out what Harry was writing.  
“What’s that?”  
“My phone number,” Harry answered, writing down the last digit with a flourish. “You don’t have to use it, but if you need to talk, then call me. I’ll pick up.”  
Louis tugged the pen off him and wordlessly scrawled his own mobile number on the back of Harry’s hand, hoping he’d got it right and hadn’t written down the pizza delivery number or something; he was awful at remembering it and didn’t have his phone with him to check. Then he got to his feet, closely followed by Harry, who picked up his wrecked hoodie and followed him to the entrance to the alleyway. Louis dared to kiss him lightly on the cheek and give his wrist a little squeeze, and Harry’s eyes lit up with surprise.  
“Please don’t start smoking,” Louis whispered, “I hate nicotine breath.” Then he shoved his hands in his pockets, far enough down to protect Harry’s blue biro-inked number from being washed off his wrist by the rain, and hurried off back down the street towards his house.

Harry stared after him in silence and touched his puffy lips almost wonderingly, like he could feel their kisses ghosting across his mouth even now that Louis had vanished. He swallowed, tried to brush some of the muck off his filthy hoodie, ran his tongue over his lips and tried to capture the taste of Louis’ mouth on his, toying with the ring through his lip and noticing that it was a little sore after being jostled by all their kisses. He didn’t mind so much. The small spike of pain was just a little reminder of what had just happened.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and then turned around and started walking in the opposite direction to Louis, towards his home. He passed a bin a few metres down, and without hesitating, plunged his hand into his pocket and dumped the cigarettes and the lighter into it.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Louis did when he blearily opened his eyes the next morning was groan and roll over. The second thing he did was sit up so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t strain his neck or something and make a grab for the phone he’d left sitting innocently on the table right beside his bed. It was 7.30 – hardly an unreasonable time to be awake, on a school day. He sent a text bouncing off to Harry before he could let himself think about sending it.

_Morning! :)_

He got a reply almost instantly, like Harry had been waiting for the message.

**Hey! Morning! :)**

_:) How are you feeling?_

**What day is it?**

_Monday._

**In that case, terrible.**

Louis laughed out loud.

_I was thinking._

**Careful, don’t hurt yourself.**

He snorted with laughter; by the looks of it, Harry was sarcastic almost to the point of being obnoxious.

_I’ll try. I have a bucket of water ready, just in case my head catches fire. But I was wondering if you’d thought any more...about last night?_

**Well, it was never exactly far from my mind...what about you?**

_Never stopped._

**And? Good, or not good?**

_Definitely good as far as the experience itself went...as to how I’m going to deal with it, I’ll opt ‘not good’ for that one. I’m confused. Not about you, strangely enough. That part’s clear. I just don’t know if you’re the exception or the rule when it comes to what I like._

**One step at a time. It doesn’t really matter just yet what your preferences are, not really. You just have to figure out what feels right for you. It was never going to be an overnight thing.**

_Yeah..._

**Am I going to see you today?**

_Yes!_

Louis realized that he’d responded far too quickly and failed to think about what he was saying the moment he’d sent the excited message back, but it wasn’t because he was embarrassed to sound too eager that he wished he could take it back; it was because now he thought about it, the idea was attractive but the logistics would prove a little trickier to negotiate.

**Sounds good to me. After school?**

_If only. I’m at remedial Chemistry – they decided my scientific prowess was so abysmal that I have to go to extra classes every Monday to try and improve me. It doesn’t work, but they don’t give up._

**Can’t you skip it? Just this once? Or don’t you break rules? Are you too much of a model student?**

_Ha. I’d skip it if I could. Chemistry is my last class – I never even leave my seat between the first hour of compulsory hell and the next hour of not-so-compulsory hell. No chance of escape._

**Damn. Leave it with me. I’ll think of something. Hey, listen, I’d talk all day, but I’m running late – I’m not even dressed yet, mum’s gonna freak. Either I miss the bus or I go to school without eyeliner on. It’s a no-brainer tbh.**

Louis rolled his eyes.

_Yes, I’m sure you’d never make it out alive without an abundance of eye make-up on._

**I wouldn’t. It’s a life or death situation.**

_Okay, Dracula, don’t get your knickerbockers in a twist. God, you Goths really DO have the angsty, dramatic attitude down to a T, haven’t you?_

**I’m not a GOTH! I’m a punk. It’s an entirely different subculture.**

Louis rolled his eyes. Again. He was going to get eyestrain at this rate.

_Well, fascinating as this discussion on emo subculture is, I have places to be and lessons to attend...Catch you later?_

**You’re a sassy little bitch, you know that?**

For a moment, Louis wondered if he’d overstepped the mark. The complete lack of smiley faces in this conversation made it almost impossible to tell whether Harry was teasing back or whether he truly was irritated. He hesitated, wondering whether he ought to tap out an apology or wait a little longer to see if he got another response.

**Unfortunately, I seem to like it. I’ll see you around, bitch. ;)**

                                                                                                 ~*~

Liam was rambling on about something or other, whilst Louis murmured supportively and pretended that he was listening, and he was boredly scanning the playground when he saw the curly-haired figure dressed in a hideous maroon ensemble interspersed with flashes of lurid yellow standing peering through the metal railings into the school.

Louis stopped dead. The figure was too far away for him to make out much, but he could see fluffy brown hair, a black messenger bag with a metal clasp that looked suspiciously like a skull, which was covered in brightly coloured pin-badges, and when the boy turned his head a little, seeming to recognize Louis at the same instant Louis recognized him, the sun caught the piercings on his face and made them flash. A flicker of heat passed through Louis’ spine and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the fact that Harry had bunked off school to come and see him, or hide his face in despair. He settled for a sharp intake of breath that unluckily for him disrupted Liam’s monologue.

“What’s wrong?” asked Liam.  
“Uh...I’ll be back in a minute,” Louis said faintly, hoisting his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. He started jogging towards the waiting figure, filled with excitement and little bit of worry.

“Hi,” he said, grabbing a railing in each hand and pressing his forehead against the cool metal, gazing through at where Harry was waiting on the other side.  
Pushing a few curls out of his eyes, Harry grinned at him. “Hey.”  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I came to see you.” Tilting his head, Harry stretched a hand through the bars, and after nervously checking to make sure that no one had sneaked up behind him, Louis reached for his hand and grasped it. Harry’s fingers were long and slender and they fitted well around Louis’; he liked that. “I probably should have waited, but patience is a virtue I apparently don’t possess, I’m afraid.” Shooting a wary look over Louis’ shoulder, Harry uncurled his fingers and took his hand back in case anybody saw, but he stayed pressed closely against the railings.  
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”  
“The uniform is kind of a giveaway, isn’t it?” Harry grimaced and gestured disgustedly at himself. “Foul. It must have been designed by a blind man. Maroon is definitely not my colour and yellow makes me look ill. Yours isn’t so bad. I could tolerate that.” He nodded at Louis’ navy ensemble; loose trousers, a white shirt, and a navy jumper and blazer with a tie covered in pale grey stripes. “Aren’t you a bit old to be wearing uniform, though?”  
Louis pulled a face. “I wish. It’s kind of a private school; weird education system. I don’t get to choose my own subjects or wear my own clothes or act like a college student at all. It sucks. But if you’re supposed to be at school, are you bunking off?”  
“You don’t sound as appalled as I thought you’d be. That’s no fun. I stayed in for Music and then faked crippling stomach pains halfway through Maths, and there was no one on the front desk, so when I got down to reception I just walked straight out.”  
“Would it not have been easier to just pretend to be sick before you went to school? Then you’d have been able to wear your own clothes and you wouldn’t get into as much trouble.”  
Harry frowned. “I don’t like lying to my mum. I texted Zayn and he popped down to the desk and signed me out; he’s better at her signature than she is these days. She doesn’t have to know. Avoiding the truth is a far more subtle art than bare-faced lying, don’t you think?” Pressing his forehead against the bars, he breathed, “come with me.”  
“Where?”  
“Wherever we like. This is hardly the most fortified of fences. There’s a wall on your side; all you have to do is step onto it and climb over and then we’ll be gone, and no one even has to know you’re missing. You’re in college now! You don’t even have a legal obligation to be here.” His hand came through the railings again and he touched the back of Louis’ hand. “Missing half a day of school won’t kill you. I walked nearly two miles across town to see you. Please, Louis? We have things to talk about. I don’t want to stand here having a conversation with a fence.”

Louis didn’t have long to make his decision, so it was a good job he didn’t need much time to think about it. Swinging his bag off his shoulder, he abruptly threw it over the fence, not minding at all that it made an extremely loud thump when it hit the concrete pavement on the other side and that he’d possibly broken its entire contents, and then he planted one foot on the wall and stepped up onto it. Harry’s grin danced across his face and he stepped back to give Louis room to maneouvre, and Liam came dashing up with a horrified expression on his face just as Louis hauled himself up, hand over hand, gripping the railings hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and swung one leg over the top with his whole body tingling with excitement.

“Louis, what on earth are you doing?” Liam looked absolutely appalled, which honestly only added to the fun. His eyes landed on Harry, with his unruly curls and his eyeliner and his angel bites and the tattoos on his arms that were clearly visible, since he’d rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, and the piercing through his lower lip that shone brightly in the light, and his mouth fell open. “Who’s that?” Liam had never set eyes on Harry before; Louis had forgotten, he’d never mentioned him, so as far as Liam was concerned, Louis was jumping over the school face to go running off with a boy with lots of metal sticking through his face and tattoos etched into his skin, who he’d never seen before in his life but who looked incredibly intimidating.

Louis answered him by balancing precariously on top of the fence, lifting his other leg over and then dropping to the floor, landing on his hands and knees and yelling loudly so that he wouldn’t be tempted to voice any of the swear words he’d always sworn never to use. Brushing off the dirt and ignoring his grazed hands, he lifted his bag and slung it over his shoulder again before casting the open-mouthed Liam a pleading glance.

“Cover for me?” he begged, and then before he could change his mind about his next course of action he grabbed Harry’s hand and gave him a pull, and they ran off down the street, Harry’s bag bouncing on his hip and Louis’ grazed knees stabbing him with pain with every step.

They sped down the street, Harry laughing breathlessly – once they’d turned the first couple of corners, Louis started laughing as well, barely able to keep running because he was spluttering so hard. Eventually, they staggered to a stop and Louis bent double, his hands on his smarting knees, while Harry clutched his stomach and whooped with laughter.

“His face!” he cried delightedly. “Oh, that was brilliant. That was just...Oh, I’ll remember that for the rest of my life. I thought his jaw was going to fall off! He was a mate of yours, I take it? I hope you’re going to hold that against him forever. We totally should have taken a picture of his reaction; it was priceless.”  
“I don’t know about that, but he’ll definitely hold this against me forever. He’ll go nuts the next time he sees me, I guarantee it.” Louis turned to Harry and asked with a smile, “so now you’ve corrupted me and we’re both skipping school, what exactly are we supposed to do next? What do people do when they bunk off?”  
“I thought maybe you could come round to my house and we could talk...I get the feeling we have an awful lot to say to each other, Louis, and it’s not the kind of discussion you can really have on the street. My mum won’t be home, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added in response to Louis’ slightly anxious look, “we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

It wasn’t supposed to sound quite as seductive as it came out, but Harry’s warm voice curled around the words like melted chocolate being drizzled lightly over his sentences, and a shiver went down Louis’ spine at the implications of that. Wordlessly, he reached out and tapped the back of Harry’s hand, and Harry looked back at him and smiled a little, and then he started leading Louis down a back street and they walked together in silence, looking almost shyly at one another every now and then like they were almost afraid to look at each other.

The walk passed quickly, although Harry’s house and Louis’ school were a fair distance apart. When they turned the corner onto a completely normal suburban street not unlike Louis’ own, Louis had to admit that he was surprised. Harry’s house was just a completely normal semi-detached house, with a pretty garden and two cars in the driveway and a cat lounging lazily on the doorstep, and the only indication that there was anything different about the place at all were the jet black curtains drawn across the window of the first floor bedroom. Judging by the smile on Harry’s face when he caught Louis looking, he assumed that that was Harry’s room.

Harry let them into the house and Louis stepped carefully onto a camel-coloured carpet, apprehensive in case he got mud everywhere. Stretching, Harry abandoned his school bag by the front door, kicked off his shoes (Louis hurriedly followed suit, figuring it was the easiest way not to dirty the carpet) and then started upstairs, and Louis had to hurry to keep up with him. Harry’s bedroom door was painted white with his name printed on it in stark black lettering, and when he pushed it open and ushered Louis into his room, it was an incredibly pleasant surprise.

Louis wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting – a kind of bat cave, maybe, filled with posters of screaming heavy metal bands with thick eye make-up and spiked clothing, with black duvets and furniture that was basically like a black hole full of stuff, so dark that his eyes would hurt when he left it. He had planned to enter cautiously, but he was astonished to find that he didn’t really need to – Harry’s curtains were black, yes, but the room’s main colour scheme appeared to be white, with the amounts of other black items fairly low. The walls were white and there were several framed posters on the wall of bands he didn’t recognize, but who didn’t look to be particularly close to living up to his expectations (out of all the bands he’d stereotypically expected Harry to be into, he’d expected the Black Veil Brides or Slipknot or something). The floor was polished pale brown floorboards, the bedspread was black and white striped, and he had a couple of dream-catchers hanging from the ceiling. There was a laptop lying closed on the desk covered in stickers, and a messy pile of papers covered in intricate designs lay beside it (future tattoo designs? Louis wondered) and four black bean-bags lounged on the floor like beached whales, ready to be sprawled lazily upon. There was a fluffy white rug on the floor similar to the one his sister had in her room, that he used to pretend was a polar bear when he was little and he’d ride on its ‘back’ for hours on end, roaring excitedly. The childhood memory softened Louis even more in his opinion of the room, and as Harry threw open his wardrobe to reveal a forest of black and silver clothing nestling between the flat-pack pine walls of the furniture, Louis gazed happily around the room and decided that it was the most beautiful room he’d ever seen in his life.

“Sit down,” Harry invited, dropping his blazer on the floor and quickly following it with his shirt. Blushing, Louis looked away and focused his attentions on an assortment of hanging crystals neatly positioned over Harry’s bed; if he reached out, he could touch them and they’d swing gently, tinkling together with a musical sound. He didn’t touch them. The silence in the room was loud enough without adding any extra background noise.

Louis thought he’d allowed ample time for Harry to finish getting dressed and be fully clothed by the time he turned around, but it appeared that he was mistaken. Turning scarlet, he was about to tear his gaze away from the sculpted muscles of Harry’s back before he became fascinated by the enormous tattoo there. Since Harry was still surveying the contents of his wardrobe with his back to Louis, Louis was free to ogle to his heart’s content; his stare roved appreciatively over the tattoo that covered almost Harry’s entire back. A pair of ruffled, feathery angel wings started at the tops of his shoulders and spanned his whole back all the way down to the base of his spine, the tips of them vanishing down beneath the waistband of his trousers. Embossed across the middle of them, in elegant italics, was a short, neat sentence.

Your Words Don’t Mean A Thing; They’re Just Like Water Off My Wings.

“Um, isn’t that a Little Mix song?” Louis asked, then hoped Harry wouldn’t realize quite how long he’d spent studying the wording.  
“Yeah. Which one?” Harry asked, turning on him and indicating the two shirts he was holding up for inspection. One was plain black; the other was black as well but decorated with an assortment of studs scattered all over it, grouping on the shoulders, and with several delicate silver chains hanging from the sleeves.  
For a moment Louis wondered if Harry was intending to ask his opinion and then laugh at his bad fashion sense, but after a moment he forced the paranoia down and gestured towards the fancier shirt. Satisfied, Harry replaced the first one and then produced a long-sleeved white shirt from the deepest depths of his wardrobe, which he then pulled over his head. It was sinfully tight, clinging to every curve and plane of Harry’s torso, and Louis felt his heart beat painfully fast and begged himself not to blush until Harry had tugged the black shirt on over the top of it and far less of his incredible body was on show. The thin fabric of the tight white shirt allowed the stark black lines of the tattoos on his long arms to show through, and this time Louis became entranced by the cobwebs on his elbows.

“You have a lot of tattoos.”  
“Yeah, I guess I do.”  
Louis gestured towards him. “Elbows. Isn’t that –”  
“One of the most painful places to get a tattoo? Oh, yes. It hurt like a bitch.” Louis blinked at the unexpected profanity. Harry rolled up his sleeves to examine his elbows. “But it was worth it in the end. These were the first tattoos I ever got. I got them because I was starting to feel like I was trapped in a cycle of doing what was expected me, and I would never get out; I was caught in a web of lies about who I really am and if I put one toe out of line then something was going to come crawling along the web and get me. I got it because it felt like the threads were tightening, and disobeying everyone and doing something reckless was the best way to rid myself of them. I was tired of being wrapped up in society’s web, so I cut the strings...” Looking speculatively at them, he gave a small, wry smile and then looked up at Louis to judge his reaction.

Louis leapt off the bed and walked purposefully across the room, and then he grabbed Harry’s bare arms and pushed him backwards, hastily steering him away from the open wardrobe which they had both narrowly missed falling into – that would have been a window of opportunity for endless jokes about coming out of the closet, and Louis really wasn’t in the mood for teasing right now. He carefully pushed Harry up against the wall and moulded their lips together, and Harry’s hands lightly rested on his hips as he reciprocated the kiss – a languid but sweet one, slow and lazy but perfect for the situation.

“Oh,” Harry said softly when they parted. “That was unexpected.”  
“One day,” Louis told him, slowly tracing the smooth lines of his collarbones with his lips, brushing them lightly against pale skin and making Harry shiver, “I’m going to sit you down and make you explain every single one of those tattoos to me.”  
Harry laughed. “That could take a while.”  
“Good.” Louis kissed his neck. “The longer the better.” His lips lingered on Harry’s shoulder and started slowly moving upwards, towards his jawline. “Talk slowly.”  
“You’re in a good mood today,” Harry observed, his breathing slightly uneven.  
“Oh, I am.”  
He abruptly changed his mind about that when his phone started vibrating.

Louis had never sworn in his life, nor did he intend to, but it was the closest he’d ever been to doing so as he swerved away from Harry’s neck, growling under his breath, pulled it out of his blazer pocket and glared at the call display. Liam’s face was grinning out at him with a goofy expression and Louis didn’t think he’d ever felt such a keen urge to punch him before in his entire life. Closing his eyes, he counted down from ten, and then once he was relatively confident that he could answer the call without hurling abuse down the phone, he answered it with gritted teeth.  
“Kind of busy right now, Liam?”  
“Oh, thank you so much, Liam, for lying to the school and covering for me so I could skive off school and go running off into town with the boy everybody hates without so much as a warning,” Liam said sarcastically. “I covered for you, you’ll be glad to know; told the receptionist you had a family crisis, an unspecified one that I made sound distressing enough for them not to start poking their noses in. As long as you’re home at the usual time, your parents shouldn’t notice anything amiss.”  
“Oh.” Louis felt guilty. “Thanks.”  
“Honestly, the things I do for you – not to mention that I’m clearly an unfalteringly loyal friend, seeing as I’ve done all of this without having the slightest idea why I’m covering for you so that you can go gallivanting off with some idiot in guyliner doing goodness knows what.”  
There was a long and slightly uncomfortable pause. Louis looked down at his shoes and waited for Liam to speak again. Beside him, Harry seemed content just to watch him, his expression impassive as his eyes flickered up and down Louis’ body and took him in, drinking him in like a hot chocolate. The sensation of having those beautiful eyes glued to him was almost tangible, as if Harry’s hands were running over every inch of his body that his eyes were dancing over, and Louis blushed.  
“So are you going to tell me why I’m covering for you and why you’ve gone running off with eyeliner guy?” pressed Liam.  
“No,” Louis said truthfully. Then he felt even more guilty. “Sorry. You remember our conversation the other day, about how things have been...different with me lately? How I need to rewrite myself, and I’m trying to sort things out? This is part of it. I’m sorry, but until I’ve completely got my head around this thing, then I’ll explain...at the moment, I kind of need to keep it to myself.”  
After a long pause, Liam huffed. “Fine. You’re my best friend, Lou, I’m not going to poke my nose into your business, especially when it’s not wanted there. But you know, if you need someone to talk to who isn’t completely terrifying, covered in indelible ink and incapable of walking through an airport security system without setting off the metal detectors, then you know where I am.”  
“Oh, shut up!” Louis scoffed, “you make him sound like some kind of alien!”  
“Alien, Goth, what difference does it make? They’re both from different planets.”  
“He’s a punk, not a Goth,” said Louis, affronted, “it’s an entirely different subculture.”  
Harry’s grin was so enormous that Louis was surprised it didn’t break his face.  
“Yeah, whatever. Call me later, okay? Let me know if my efforts were for nothing or not. I hope your parents don’t find out about this, because I’m for it if they do.” Then Liam hung up.  
Louis tossed his phone onto the bed, turned to the still grinning Harry, and said “I lied. I have figured something out.”  
“Oh? What’s that?”  
“I’ve worked out my sexuality,” said Louis. A grin of his own suddenly appeared. “I’m Stylessexual.”


	8. Chapter 8

Louis spotted Harry walking down the street towards him and immediately looked away, casual but forcing himself not to make eye contact. It was difficult; averting his eyes from Harry’s gorgeous features made his jaw clench, and his hands balled into fists in his pockets. Still, he determinedly kept looking away. On the other side of the road, out of his peripheral vision, he could see that Harry kept his gaze glued to the ground and he didn’t look up either; they walked straight past each other with no acknowledgement whatsoever, and as far as any onlookers were concerned, Louis was yet another normal boy shunning the freak with just as much ease as everybody else.

 

The moment Louis rounded the corner, Harry whipped his phone out and Louis answered halfway through the first ring, grinning all over his face. “Smooth. Nobody was any the wiser. I think we’re good at this whole –” he lowered his voice a little “ – _secret boyfriend_ thing, Harold. I feel like a ninja.”

“A _ninja_ ,” Harry scoffed, “we’re going for coffee, not robbing a bank or kidnapping zombies or whatever. I really don’t think we need to be quite _this_ careful, you know.” He was smiling all over his face; not that he’d admit it, but the whole air of mystery thing was kind of cute, really.

“Better safe than sorry. I don’t want my parents finding out. Okay, I’m almost here, you gonna double back and meet me here in ten?”

“ _Five_ ,” Harry corrected, “no way am I waiting that long, I’m so caffeine-starved that the moment I have that coffee in front of me, I’m going to drown myself in it. Don’t worry, I left my ‘Dating Louis Tomlinson’ rainbow flags at home. Everything’s going to be _fine,_ Lou. You worry too much!”

“You don’t worry enough,” Louis muttered, thinking about the consequences of Harry getting caught hanging out with him, aka none whatsoever, whereas merely imagining his parents’ reaction to seeing him within a ten foot radius of ‘Harry Styles and the Eyeliner Brigade’, as the locals had none too affectionately dubbed them made him feel ill. “See you.”

He heard a moist squishing sound right beside his ear, flinched in shock, and suddenly realized with a bright red flush of his cheeks that Harry had blown a kiss into the phone. “I’ll be there in two.” The call disconnected.

 

Louis headed into the coffee shop, the bell overhead tinkling as he slipped through the door and ordered himself a latte. He dithered over tables for a few minutes, chose the one closest to the window so as not to look like he was trying to hide, swapped it for the one right at the back because he _was_ trying to hide, then finally settled for one in the middle which he hoped would provide a certain amount of discretion but look appropriately nonchalant to any passers-by.

 

The waitress brought him his drink, chewing irritably on gum and looking as sour as the milk in his usual coffee shop – despite her foul expression, he relied on Harry’s judgement when he’d claimed that this was a far nicer cafe than the one he usually visited. It had less pink and white checked tablecloths, but the coffee definitely _looked_ more appetizing than he was used to. He treated her to a sunny grin and she wrinkled her nose and stomped off like she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d hate to be more, and Louis wondered if he should tip her to put her in a better mood or whether that would just make her expect tips every time he came in. He decided he’d toss a coin for it, and whichever coin he pulled out, he’d give to her if he got tails. He sipped on his drink and doodled on the complimentary napkins, and when he’d filled them all with blue biro scribbles, he pulled his phone out for a couple of quick rounds of Angry Birds.

 

His tense shoulders quickly relaxed through the winning combination of virtual ornithological violence, a hot drink and a comfy chair, and he was soon completely absorbed in the moving birds on the screen. It was just as well; when the little bell on the door tinkled to announce Harry’s entrance, Louis didn’t look up; when Harry strolled to the counter, ordered a coffee (“blacker than my soul,” he said seriously to the cashier, who didn’t crack a smile and appeared to be in an even worse mood than the waitress) and once it had been brewed, carried it over to Louis’ table and sat opposite him. He angled his chair away from the window.

 

Louis lowered the phone, smiled at him, then stowed it back in his pocket and devoted his attention entirely to Harry. He raised his cup to his lips and sipped a little with raised eyebrows, and they silently looked at each other for a moment or so. Harry copied him, and then they both started laughing quietly at each other. The first to place his cup back down, Louis leaned over the table to speak to him without being overheard.

 

“You look fantastic.” He said it slightly breathlessly, unable to hold the thought back any longer. Harry’s hair was shining a little in the light, falling across his forehead in a couple of loose curls, the ring through his lip sparkled, and his outlined eyes were appraising as they looked Louis up and down and appeared to like what they saw.

Harry grinned and preened a little, pleased. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

A white t-shirt, too-tight jeans and a sleepy expression was all that Louis had been able to muster that morning, although the latter was quickly fading if the coffee he was sipping was doing its job. He hadn’t even bothered to quiff his hair, leaving it down so that he almost had a feathery fringe again, which he self-consciously ran his fingers through when he caught Harry staring.

“I look a total mess.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Harry said seriously. “I’m definitely not complaining.”

“You must have very low standards, then.”

“Mm.” Leaning conspiratively over the table, Harry whispered, “or maybe you look damn good without making the slightest bit of effort, and it’s actually extremely unfair.”

 

Lost for words, Louis took a long sip of coffee, and scrambled for interesting things to say while he did it.

 

Lying on the table, Harry’s phone vibrated, and he pulled an apologetic face at Louis as he reached for it and opened the text he’d just received. His dark eyes flickered over the message for a few seconds, then he rolled his eyes and shoved the device into his pocket with a snort. Louis raised a questioning eyebrow, and Harry chewed carefully on the ring through his lower lip before he picked his coffee up.

 

“Zayn just got another tattoo, and now he’s crying for me to come and take him home and tuck him up with a bottle of tequila and a chick flick. Big baby. I swear, after all this time, he still can’t get inked without having someone to cry all over when it’s done.”

Louis’ eyes widened. “Why does he still get them, then?”

Harry waved a hand. “Why does anyone get them? He feels like it’s the best way of expressing himself; it makes him feel free. When you get that kind of reassurance out of something, anything’s worth the pain.”

 

Louis was about to reply – not that he had any idea what he was supposed to say to _that_ – when a small flicker of movement in the window caught his eye. Thankful for the distraction, he glanced up. There was a girl standing in front of the cafe, facing towards the end of the road, eyes glued to her phone. Her fingers were dancing on the keys, but she seemed a little distracted and the concentration she had on the device seemed a little forced, like she was determined to make it look like she’d stopped to send a text but actually had an ulterior motive for standing there. She had long hair, the rich brown of tree bark, and it fell almost to the small of her back. She was wearing a blue jacket that Louis recognized all too well because he’d bought it for her for Christmas last year and she was still wearing it even though it had gone out of fashion months back. She was his little sister.

 

Eyes widening, Louis abruptly swept his napkin onto the floor and dived after it on the pretence of picking it up, except he didn’t resurface from underneath the table. Despite being in an uncomfortable position with the blood rushing to his head and his spine starting to protest already, he had an excellent view of the window and where his sister stood, still intently focused on her phone.

 

After a moment, Harry’s head appeared underneath the table. “What on earth are you doing down there?” he asked bemusedly.

“Get back up, she’ll see you!” Louis hissed, gesturing frantically. Harry sighed and rolled his outlined eyes, but he obediently sat back up so that Louis once again had an unobstructed view of his little sister. In fact, he had a good enough view to see her look up, and then suddenly start blushing furiously. Louis guessed that judging by the place where her eyes were focused, she’d just locked gazes with Harry.

“Hey, I know her!” Harry said in surprise.

“You do?” Louis muttered.

Felicite stared at Harry for a few seconds, her mouth falling open in shock – then she turned tail and ran away in the opposite direction to the one she’d been facing when she stopped, almost falling over in her haste to get away.

 

Louis sat up so fast that it made his head spin, jerking sharply up in his seat and into a sitting position. “What was that all about? What did you do?”

“I only waved at her,” Harry said sheepishly.

Louis frowned. “How weird.”

“Says the one who hid under the table so she wouldn’t see him. Who is she anyway, your psychotic ex girlfriend? Bit young, isn’t she?”

“Ha, ha, guess again, genius,” Louis said sourly, “she’s my little sister.”

Pulling a face, Harry said guiltily, “Whoops. How embarrassing. She doesn’t look like you,” he said by way of explanation.

“I know.” Louis gazed down into the depths of his coffee cup. “How do you know her?” he asked, lifting his head to meet Harry’s gaze.

Harry frowned slightly. “She used to follow me around. It was a bit odd, actually; one day, she just showed up, around where me, Niall and Zayn were, and she sort of stood around, peeking at us every now and then and listening to our conversations and pretending not to have noticed us. Then the next day, there she was again, and the day after that, and the day after that. She just kept on coming. She was never very subtle about it, but I think she liked to think that she was. She’d just stand around and listen to us talk, and watch us, and never try to approach us or anything; it was a bit weird, but she wasn’t doing any harm, so we just let her be. Figured she’d get bored eventually. Then I guess she did, because she started coming less and less often, until about a week before I came out, she stopped coming altogether, and I haven’t seen her since.”

Louis remembered his mother telling him that she’d had to ground Felicite because she kept “wandering around town on her own and won’t tell us where she’s been; she could have been gallivanting with a lot of wild boys for all we knew”. That turned out to be closer to the truth than Louis could have imagined; the irony wasn’t exactly lost on him. Still, rather than comment, he returned his attentions to his drink and didn’t say anything else. His little sister certainly _did_ have a lot to answer for.

 

The question was: how was Louis going to broach the subject without mentioning that he’d seen her outside the coffee shop, or explaining how he knew that she’d been following Harry around like a little shadow for the first couple of months leading up to his announcement that he was gay?

 

~*~

 

 

“Hey,” Harry said as they were settling the bill, “do you have plans for tonight?”

Well, it would have been a big fat lie if Louis had said that his heart didn’t start racing embarrassingly quickly at that. “Nothing concrete,” he said nonchalantly, “why?”

“Uh, Zayn’s got a couple of mates, and they’re in this band, and they’ve been trying to get some local publicity, so they’re doing this concert tonight, and Zayn’s got free tickets – except it’s really short notice, so we’ve got some spare, and I was wondering if you wanted to come?” Harry peeked at him like a nervous child, as if he thought Louis was going to be horrified by the suggestion.

“What kind of music is it?” asked Louis cautiously. “Because I don’t really do anything that’s really...you know... _loud._ My mum’s quite strict with the music I’m allowed to listen to, and I’m not that big on anything like...I don’t know. It’s not screamo, is it?”

 “No, it’s nothing heavy,” promised Harry, “They mostly do covers at the moment; Muse, Kings of Leon, The Killers, that kind of thing...”

Brightening, Louis said “Yeah? Sure, I’ll come, where do you want me to meet you?”

“At the end of your road, at about eight? It should be all over by ten. This is going to be brilliant, honestly, I can’t wait for you to properly meet Zayn and Niall! I’ve told them so much about you, I really hope you guys get along!” Apparently even the thought was thrilling to Harry; his eyes were shining, his cheeks were flushed, and forget Christmas coming early, forget fifty birthdays all at once; he looked like a two year old whose wishes had all come true, his expression so brilliantly bright that you could have lit an entire country with it.

Still, Louis couldn’t help but be worried. “Can I just ask, what _exactly_ have you told them about me?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I told them you’re a straightforward closeted gay Christian with lots of cute moral principles and dickhead parents and you’ll get along with them just fine but if they swear, disrespect God or take the Lord’s name in vain in your presence you’ll take extreme offence spank them with the flat of your Bible.”

Louis gave him a look of abject horror.

Harry managed to maintain his deadpan expression for all of ten seconds before he burst out laughing. “That was brilliant! I can’t believe you actually fell for that, oh my god. Brilliant. No, honestly Lou, I told them you were a mate of mine and you were still trying to figure some things out – things which I purposely didn’t specify, might I add – and I’d been hanging out with you a bit lately and you’re a really...” seeming to falter, he said in a rush “a nice guy, I mean.” Louis wondered what he had been about to say before he’d caught himself, but before he could dwell too long on it, Harry was turning around and giving him another devastating smile. “Well, I suppose we’d better go our separate ways for now, then. Wouldn’t want you getting sick of me.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Louis breathed, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone smile so hugely in all his life as Harry did in response to that.

“I’ll see you tonight, then.” As he swept past, Harry gave Louis’ hand a fleeting squeeze, so fast that it would have been impossible for a bystander to see, and he was given one more glorious view of the smile that made his eyes ache with its intensity before Harry exited the shop and vanished from sight, leaving nothing behind him but the faint smell of aftershave, and a little bit of longing spiking through Louis’ body like some kind of insane, smile-fuelled adrenaline rush.

 

~*~

 

Harry was waiting at the end of his road as promised, with eight silver bangles on his wrists and brand new black boots with matte black shoelaces that appeared to have tiny yellow smiley faces on them, and black jeans tighter than the devil’s grip on Hitler (and yes, Louis fully expected to go to hell for that comparison) and basically, he looked so sinfully good that Louis wasn’t sure whether to kiss him or punch him or some combination of the two. He’d brushed out his curls so that they waved softly, falling slightly over one eye, and his eyeliner was slightly smudged, softening around his eyes and making him look far gentler. His lips were plump and Louis wanted to kiss them ridiculously badly. When Louis reached him, dressed in a loose grey shirt, jeans which weren’t going to cut off his circulation, the silver crucifix he always wore round his neck and his oldest pair of espadrilles, he felt extremely underdressed, but apparently Harry didn’t share the sentiment; his gaze flickered approvingly from Louis’ backcombed hair to his cloth-clad toes, and he raised his eyebrows and _smirked._ It was a kind of “that’s _mine_ ” smirk, a possessive sort of expression, and on anyone else Louis would have hated it and said it was cocky, but with a beautiful boy looking at him like that with those lush ivy irises, his plump pink lips curved into a wicked smirk inspired by his own hastily thrown together outfit, how could he possibly object? His stomach fluttered as Harry stepped closer to him, looking down a little because he was so much taller, and he wrapped his little finger around Louis’; a subtle prelude to holding his hand.

 

Louis hoped the smile on his face wasn’t as soppy and embarrassing as he thought it was, although judging by the one that flared on Harry’s lips in response, it was even worse than that.

“You ready to go?” Harry murmured.

“As I’ll ever be. You sure you want to be seen with me? It’s not too late to turn around and run away before your friends see me and you automatically become uncool by association,” said Louis lightly. He hoped his joking would mask his underlying nervousness at being reintroduced to the blond hedgehog and inky, as he had secretly labelled Harry’s two friends in order to more easily differentiate. Was one of them Zayn? He vaguely remembered Harry mentioning a Zayn.

“You’re kidding? I’m dying to show you off. And you certainly won’t disappoint; you look _stunning_ tonight.”

With a snort, Louis shoved him. “Are you sure that eyeliner hasn’t gotten into your eyes and blinded you? I look a mess. Better than earlier, but still a mess.”

“If this is your messy, than I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with you when you’re all dressed up. Have you any idea how good you look? I think someone should tell you. All I’m saying is, if anyone comes on to you, don’t be surprised – and _definitely_ don’t be surprised if I don’t leave your side all night. Or express urges of seemingly random violence towards anyone who looks at you for too long. I want you _all to myself_.”

Blushing, Louis looked at the ground. “Definitely blind. But you’re cute, and you look gorgeous too, so I’ll forgive you.” He raked a hand through his hair, fluffing it up a little and pulling a face as he realized that he’d completely destroyed the style it was set into, and then he decided he didn’t care and started walking, tugging Harry after him with only his little finger, still clasped around Harry’s. “Come on, where’s this concert thingy, then? We’ll be late.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, be realistic. They’re _Zayn’s_ friends. They’ll _all_ be late. We’ll be comparatively early, don’t you worry about that; they take being fashionably late to entirely new levels.” But he obligingly started walking.

 

They chatted as they walked, about mundane little things like homework and annoying people at school, books and movies, favourite musicians, hobbies and interests. Louis learnt that Harry liked singing and drawing, although he wasn’t particularly good at the latter, and he liked sports too, describing himself as ‘insanely competitive’ (Louis had to admit to becoming a little nervous when Harry cheerfully told him a story about how he’d beaten his opponent over the head with a badminton racket during a particularly heated game – “although if I’m honest he was pretty lucky I didn’t shove the shuttlecock up his arse” – although he had to admit he wouldn’t mind seeing Harry in a PE kit waving a racket around and showing the world his excellent arm muscles). In return, Louis told him about his love-hate relationship with football, his adoration towards children, his secret love of chick-flicks and how much he despised schoolwork and people who walk slowly in front of you or spit on the street (the grin that flared on Harry’s face when he mentioned the word ‘spit’ made Louis kind of want to punch him, so he did. They had a mock-wrestling fight in the middle of the street. Louis got Harry in a headlock and messed up his pretty hair, and then Harry lifted Louis clean off the ground and threatened to punch him in the balls, and Louis wanted to kiss him so much that it hurt). It was as easy and comfortable as talking to Liam, or one of his sisters, except with the underlying difficulty of his heart fluttering every time Harry said his name, or touched him on the elbow when they were talking, or threw back his head and let out that beautiful laugh which Louis was completely enchanted by.

 

They arrived at the venue – the local youth club building – in a fairly respectable amount of time, although Louis felt a little wistful that the journey hadn’t taken any longer. A small group of people were gathered in front of it; he recognized two of them. Tall, slender, with liquid brown eyes that appeared to be a kind of coppery colour in the dim lighting, lots of tattoos and black skinny jeans, with silver chains dripping down from his neck and both his ears stretched, a thick gauze bandage wrapped around his forearm – that was Zayn; it had to be, judging by the brand new tattoo that was covered by the dressing. Beside him was Niall, chattering eagerly away nineteen to the dozen; he had newly dyed cherry-red streaks running through his blond hair, so many rings on that you could barely see his fingers, and he was wearing a luminous green shirt and bright orange Converse. Louis blinked at his slightly outrageous outfit, and then Niall turned around, laughing uproariously at some joke, and Louis saw that he had a necklace around his neck with charms in the shape of tiny plastic apples, bananas and oranges with faces on them. It was the same necklace that he’d seen Felicite buy from Claire’s Accessories with her pocket money the week before, but he decided not to say anything.

 

Apparently Harry had no such qualms. Raising an eyebrow, he called “What on earth are you wearing, you tosser? You look like a fruit salad.”

“Harry!” yelled Niall delightedly, turning around and enthusiastically flipping him off with his nail-varnished middle finger. He rushed over and slapped Harry on the arm, and in return Harry stomped playfully on his foot, practically crushing him underneath his shiny black Doc Martens.

Zayn came wandering over next, hands in his pockets, and he raised his eyebrows at Louis, which made him feel a bit edgy. A slow grin spread across his face, and he nodded approvingly and said “He’ll do.” Then he turned to Harry and mouthed “get in there,” and made a thrusting motion, which made Louis blush right to the roots of his hair.

“Shut up,” Harry said gleefully, unable to keep from grinning to himself. “Dickhead.”

“Wanker,” Zayn replied fondly.

Not for the first time, Louis wondered what it would be like to be able to swear so cheerfully right in your best friend’s face and not have him look horrified. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to use profanities with the same ease that Harry did, but at least he wasn’t as pious about swearing as Liam, who had been known to shout things like “poo!” and “botheration!” if he tripped or stubbed his toe.

All of a sudden, there was a blond Irishman in his face, grinning manically and making Louis’ eyes ache with the garish vibrancy of his clothing. Compared to the soothing blacks and silvers of Harry’s wardrobe, Niall looked like someone had vomited rainbows all over him. His eyes flickered up and down Louis’ body, even less subtly than Zayn’s had, if that was possible; they were the brightest blue with interspersed green flecks, like he’d snatched the world out of its orbit and squashed it until it was the size of a marble, and jammed it into his eye socket, and then replicated the feat. His grin was so wide that Louis wondered if he was going to get some kind of cheek strain. Even as Louis watched the blond checking him out, Niall nipped around behind him to get an eyeful of the back view, and he whistled with approval.

“He’s cute. Gotta love the way you forgot to mention that he was the scared guy from the music store, though, thanks for that. You know, now I think about it, he still looks kinda freaked out, although he isn’t backing away from me this time. That’s cool. I thought he might have personal space issues, like he doesn’t like people going near him, but I guess he just didn’t like me. He has a nice arse, though. Has anyone ever told you that you have a nice arse?” He directed this last comment at Louis.

“Um. No?”

Niall raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Now _that_ is a crime. Well, I just did, so relish it, kid. I don’t compliment the arse of just anyone. If I say you have a nice one, then that means you’ve got some _serious_ curvature on that bitch. Mmm hmm.”

That was when Harry chose to intervene, stepping in between them to sling his arm around Louis’ shoulders. He did it fairly casually, draping his arm right around Louis’ back so that his curled fingers nestled somewhere around Louis’ collarbone, the warm weight of him strangely comforting, but there was no messing the dangerously possessive glint in his eye, or the way he stood up a little straighter in a clearly assertive gesture, and the way his voice sounded a little too airy as he said lightly, “Leave out. You’re not even gay.”

“Gay, straight, lonely single woman with twelve cats, makes no difference; you don’t need to like guys to be able to appreciate a fine ass. He thinks I’m gonna hit on you,” Niall explained to Louis, “and he knows you’d pick me. Therefore he’s going to make my life hell for the rest of conceivably forever. Just because I’m so hot. It sucks being me.” He sighed dramatically.

“Jeez, I told you, we’re just –” Harry hesitated, sneaked a look at Louis, and deliberated for a few seconds over whether he should remove his arm or whether that would just prove that he had something to hide. “Friends.”

Louis hadn’t particularly wanted to scream his relationship status into a megaphone and broadcast it across the whole town, but on the other hand, he didn’t much the like the sound of “just friends” coming out through Harry’s plump lips either.

“Sure you are, Romeo. Although come to think of it, you’re probably Juliet. Come on, tossers, gig’s gonna start without us if we don’t hurry up, let’s not wait for the grass to grow!” Niall turned his back on them and skipped – literally _skipped_ – through the open door and into the building.

 

Louis stared after him. “Is he always like that?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “but usually he’d have felt you up by now, so there is that.” Raising his voice, he said to Zayn, “I miss the days when you guys were dating and I could rely on you to fuck him into submission whenever he forgot how to close his gob.”

“I miss them too,” sighed Zayn, “it was nice getting some peace and quiet. My neck probably doesn’t mind so much, though; someone should stick a label on him so that people know that he bites.” Shaking his head, he ambled after the blond, hands stuffed in his pockets and whistling, the epitome of cool. Until he tripped over a beer can and almost fell flat on his face.

 

Louis and Harry both snorted, and Louis forgot to care about whether it was too soon in the friendship to laugh at him for being a clumsy git.

 

Rectifying himself, Zayn looked around as if to make sure that nobody he cared about was watching, smoothed his hair, and then stuck his middle finger up at them without turning around. He picked his way more carefully down the path and vanished through the open doorway, apparently unruffled by the fact that he’d narrowly missed falling headfirst into the drain.

 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured in Louis’ ear, his lips brushing against Louis’ earlobe and making him shiver. One of his long arms was still looped carelessly around Louis’ shoulders. “Zayn’s obnoxious and Niall’s a prick, but they’re brilliant when you get to know them. You learn to deal with their shit. I’m sorry about Niall – I _did_ tell him not to flirt with you. Come to think of it, that’s probably exactly why he did it. In retrospect, probably not one of my better ideas. You okay?”

“You told them we were ‘just friends’,” Louis said quietly.

“Yeah, I figured the best way to keep a secret is not to tell Niall. I’m sorry, did – did you want me to say...I thought we were, you know...keeping on the down-low for a little bit.” Anxiously, Harry shot him a sideways glance. “Not that I’d have any idea what to call this, anyway.” He laughed nervously.

“‘Boyfriends’ sounds good to me,” answered Louis, “but no, I mean, I’m glad you said that, I just didn’t so much like the sound of it. It might be nice to tell someone. I mean, I don’t think I’m quite ready yet, but it would still be nice for someone to know.”

Cheeks flushed pink with pleasure over the ‘boyfriends’ comment, Harry told him “If it’s any consolation, I think they already know.”

 

Louis hoped they did. At the same time, he was a little bit ashamed that it was really that obvious, but his parents were incredibly good at blinding themselves against inconvenient truths even if they were parading right in front of them, such as the fact that Louis loathed football and couldn’t do physics and didn’t want to pursue a career in dentistry, all things that they were in firm denial of. He sighed.

 

But he was still tucked underneath Harry’s arm, their bodies warm and close and touching, and Louis still had an urge to kiss him, and Harry was smiling at him like he’d forgotten they were stood on a freezing cold street outside a crappy youth-club surrounded by broken bottles and dog-poo, and they might as well have been on a bed strewn with rose petals with Celine Dion playing in the background and someone sat in the corner strumming melodically away on a harp, because Louis was being looked at like he was some piece of fine art that Harry only had a limited amount of time to gaze upon, and that he wanted to take in every inch of before it was snatched away. Except there was no anxiety behind his gaze, or wistfulness; just a deep hunger, a desire to fold Louis up into an origami heart and insert him inside his chest, so that his fragile paper heart could beat against Harry’s own.

 

That was around the point when Louis came to the inevitable conclusion that the reason Niall had been acting so strangely was that he was high, and somehow he’d just inhaled second-hand pot smoke or something which was why he was coming up with strange poetic metaphors and feeling an intense desire to start ripping Harry’s clothes off.

 

Neatly disentangling his long limb from around Louis’ shoulders, Harry offered the shorter boy his arm, along with his flirtiest grin. “Would you care to accompany me to the youth-club’s Blind Diamonds concert, good sir?”

“I think I would,” countered Louis with a demure grin of his own; he took Harry’s arm without hesitation, knowing that to any outsider it would seem like they were pratting about. If only they had known how fast his heart started racing the moment he linked his arm with Harry’s. “Blind Diamonds?”

“That’s the band. Perhaps you’re beginning to understand why they’re so desperate for people to come and see them firsthand and stop judging them by their band name.”

“I might have an inkling.”

 

Without wasting a second longer on small talk, Harry whisked Louis towards the front door and they stumbled through the entrance, tripping over on the same piece of rubbish that Zayn had on their way, and giggling breathlessly as they staggered into the building. Louis fell against Harry and his cheek brushed against Harry’s curls, and they were soft and Harry’s laugh was deep and it rumbled softly in his chest like a kitten’s purr, and he wanted to hang giddily onto Harry’s arm and trip over things and breathe in the smell of cigarette smoke and stale sandwiches for the rest of his life.

 

~*~

 

They burst out of the hall in a rush of other animatedly talking teenagers, trying to avoid a couple of passionately snogging couples and this drunk kid who’d been sick in a bin four times in the duration of the show. Usually, Louis would have found this distractingly repulsive, but he was hanging on to Harry’s arm and Niall was hanging on to his arm and Zayn was hanging on to Niall’s arm, so it didn’t look weird, and they were all staggering along and Niall looked like he was about to join the drunk kid and start vomiting in the gutter at any second, causing Louis to wonder exactly how he’d found the time to get so impressively intoxicated in the space of just over an hour and with what had appeared to be only a few token swigs of a drink he was hiding in a brown paper bag (not clichéd at all, then). Harry was laughing and Niall might have been crying, and Zayn was telling filthy jokes that no one was listening to, and Louis was trying to work out whether he’d ever had more fun in his life, because he honestly didn’t think he had.

 

“Company, halt!” barked Zayn, and they all stopped dead.

Niall gave him a wobbly salute with his practically empty bottle, drained the dregs from it, smacked his lips and then began serenading them with the first few wavering lines of a Bonnie Tyler song. Rolling his eyes, Harry punched him, and then they all broke arms and gathered around Niall and started hitting him, and even Louis managed to land a few playful whacks before Niall dramatically threw himself to the floor, got on his knees and proclaimed to the sky “I’m the king of the world!”

“You’re the king of the twats,” Zayn said, “he’s drunk as fuck, how much has he had?”

“Not enough” said Niall at the exact same time as Harry said “Too much.”

“What do we do if he throws up?” asked Louis nervously, figuring that his mother might realize he hadn’t actually been volunteering at the local old folks’ home to help them host their annual seniors’ party if he came home covered in cheap red hair-dye and vomit (Niall was very physical and kept head-butting them all, and the smears of scarlet all up their arms made them look like they’d been in the midst of a public brawl. Adding sick to the mess wouldn’t exactly endear them to the neighbours).

“Let him lie in it,” answered Harry.

Burping obnoxiously, Niall slurred, “M’not gonna throw up. Harry, I need to tell you something. S’important.”

“Go on, then.”

“No,” came the stubborn reply, “I gotta whisper. S’private.”

“Fine, whatever,” Harry said, “but if you throw up in my hair, I’ll shoot you.” He leaned in, and Niall pressed his lips to the shell of Harry’s ear. Louis felt a deep-rooted flare of jealousy shoot painfully from his abdomen right into his chest, and he inhaled sharply in surprise, rubbing his now aching chest.

“Harry,” Niall burbled, so loudly that the whole street could have heard him “I love you.”

“Of course you do. Everyone loves me. Get him home, Zayn, before he passes out or vomits on his shoes. Idiot.” He fondly ruffled Niall’s red and yellow hair and cursed when several large splodges of red transferred themselves onto his fingers.

“No Harry,” Niall rambled frantically as Zayn rolled his eyes and began leading him away by the arm, “you don’ unnerstand. I _love_ you.”

“I love you too, you drunken fool,” promised Harry, and he gave him a large, wet kiss on the forehead as if to prove it, which was so obviously played up that even the pettiest of Louis’ jealous twinges couldn’t kick off about it. “I’ll see you in the morning, gorgeous. Mwah!” He mouthed madly at the air, peppering kisses into the sky, and Niall struggled to blow his own wobbly kisses back.

 

As Zayn hauled him away, snorting audibly under his breath, Niall was heard to be professing his drunken opinions so loudly that he might as well have been yelling into a megaphone. Giggling, Harry and Louis stared after them and strained their ears (not that it was particularly necessary) and therefore heard with perfect clarity:

“That Louis is a top fucking bloke. Dresses like Tony bleedin’ Blair but he’s got a _fantastic_ arse.”

“Louis, or Tony Blair?” asked Zayn dryly. “Wait, don’t answer that. Where did you get Tony Blair from anyways?”

“Prime Minister, innee?” replied Niall proudly. Then his forehead furrowed. “Or is it Gordon Ramsay?”

Zayn snorted even more loudly than before; he sounded like a horse. “He thinks it’s two thousand and fucking five,” he yelled back to Harry and Louis.

 

Rolling his eyes, Harry threw his arm around Louis’ shoulders and they turned away from Zayn and Niall just as the blond erupted into an agonizing rendition of the Hallelujah chorus. Louis was unable to wipe the enormous grin off his face as they wandered off down the road together; he’d never heard anyone swear so much in his whole life as he’d heard these three swear in the space of an hour; nor had he ever seen anyone get so drunk. Nor had he ever enjoyed himself quite so much. In all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.

 

It didn’t seem to be too much of a contradiction of any of the rules he’d always been given, when he thought about it. He’d lied to his mother about where he was going, true, but he hadn’t gotten drunk – only watched someone else do it – hadn’t stolen anything or upset anyone or said anything particularly rude, apart from the odd daring swearword that had slipped out by accident and that nobody had batted an eyelid at, although Louis was shocked with himself. Nobody was upset – in fact, Louis was so happy that he thought the light feeling in his chest might spread right through his whole body and he’d become a helium balloon and float away into the sky. He didn’t think he’d mind so long as Harry was holding on to the string.

 

The walk home wasn’t quite like the walk on the way there. Louis was lost in contemplative silence and Harry seemed perfectly content just to walk, his arm still around Louis’ shoulders, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. The icy metal of Harry’s bracelets chilled Louis’ skin, provoking goosebumps every time they brushed against his neck, but he enjoyed the sensation. Every so often he’d snuggle a little closer against Harry, telling himself it was because of the cold, and their cheeks would touch or curls would tickle the side of his face, and a little smile lit up Louis’ face, because he couldn’t seem to fight it back. At some point, his arm found its way around Harry’s waist and sat comfortably there, and he looped his little finger into Harry’s belt loop and held him even closer, and Harry seemed extremely at ease with their proximity.

 

The main trait that the journey to the venue and the journey from the venue shared was that it was over far too quickly.

They reached the end of Louis’ road and stopped, turning to face each other. Obviously, their arms dropped from around each other, but after casting a cautious look over his shoulder Louis took Harry’s hands and held them, and they both smiled at each other a little shyly, fingers interlocked, swinging their hands like they weren’t quite sure what to do next. Louis knew what he _wanted_ to do, but he wasn’t quite brazen enough to kiss Harry in the middle of the street, even if it _was_ in pitch darkness and they were standing underneath a broken streetlamp so that nobody could even see their silhouettes – there was a creeping sensation of paranoia slowly crawling up Louis’ spine which kept telling him that it was going to suddenly flicker back to life and become a spotlight, proclaiming their whereabouts for all to see.

 

“I had a good night,” he said softly. “We should do it again.”

“We should,” agreed Harry. “Maybe next time _without_ the army of nitwits hanging around us all night long.”

“Awww, they’re not so bad. I think maybe they sort of liked me. I kind of liked them too.”

“That’s good. Just so long as you still like me more.” Harry grinned, but there was a slight underlying hint of nervousness in his expression.

 

Louis replied by giving him a little smile, but that was apparently all that was required; Harry’s face lit up, he too checked around them to make sure that nobody was watching, and then he dipped forwards and kissed Louis on the cheek.

 

“Goodnight, Louis.”

 

~*~

 

Louis was on cloud nine as he let himself into the house, buzzing with energy. He was so caught up in his own little dream world, stuck in a memory orbit of kisses and light touches and the easy exchange of banter around the planet that was Harry Styles, that he didn’t notice the shadowy figure sat at the foot of the stairs in the dark, meaning that he tripped right over her and landed on top of her with his face squished against the carpet.

 

“Ow!”

“ _Ouch_!”

“Sh – Go – Good grief, Fizz, what on earth are you doing down there?” demanded Louis, trying not to blush over the fact that he’d almost let slip _two_ forbidden profanities in one sentence. He was really going to have to start watching his tongue if he was going to be spending any substantial amount of time with Harry’s friends. “I could have killed myself there!”

“You _did_ kill _me_ ,” mumbled Felicite grumpily, shifting up along the stairwell to give him enough room to pass. Her skinny arms were looped around her legs and as Louis watched, she rested her pointed chin back on her knees, staring blankly at the wall opposite her.

Instead of shoving past her and bounding up to his room, Louis took a seat beside her and waited for her to protest. When no complaint was forthcoming, he turned to her and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

“Because you don’t look –”

“For goodness’ _sake,_ Louis, I am _fine_ ,” she snapped, “just leave it!”

Ooh. Touchy.

“Yep, cos it’s the done thing nowadays, sitting on your own at the bottom of the stairs in the dark. Don’t insult my intelligence. What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up,” she replied through gritted teeth. “His name’s Louis Tomlinson, he’s my brother and do you know _what_ he’s up? His own backside, because I’ll be shoving his head up there if he doesn’t shut up and leave me alone!” Then she turned away from him to face the wall, shoulders hunching, clearly believing she was going to have the final word on the subject.

 

After leaving a suitable moody pause, Louis said “What were you doing downtown at Bea’s Beans? The coffee shop?”

Her whole body jerked; startled, she raised her head and said shrilly “Bea’s Beans? What a ridiculous name, Bea’s Beans! Why would I be at Bea’s Beans, I don’t even _like_ coffee, and what on earth would I be doing downtown anyway? Honestly, Louis, why would you think I was there? What would _I_ be doing at _Bea’s Beans_?”

 _Gotcha_ , thought Louis grimly, then he continued “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Don’t lie to me, Fizz; I know you were there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “ _How_ do you know I was there?”

That was when Louis abruptly realized that he had no explanation for that. “Um,” he said wildly, “well, I –”

“You know why _I_ think you were there?” she asked dangerously, drawing closer to him. “I think you were there for the exact same reason that I was. He’s tall, he’s weird, and his name begins with an H, and I don’t know what you want with him but what I _do_ know is that if Mum and Dad find out you were with him, they’ll react about as well as they would if they knew _I’d_ been anywhere near him, so how about this: you keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours, and then neither of us gets into trouble and everybody’s happy, agreed?”

Troubled, Louis rubbed his forehead. He _wasn’t_ happy, not at all – but she had him, and he didn’t know exactly how much she knew about him and Harry meeting up and how much was some extremely lucky guesswork, but by the sounds of it she was completely spot on with her assumptions or at least extremely close to it, and he didn’t think he’d much enjoy hearing her recount all or any of his escapades with Harry to their mother – so he pressed his lips together into a tight line and nodded at her. Then he got to his feet, wordlessly mounted the stairs and vanished into his room, where he abruptly threw himself onto his bed and groaned, burying his face in his hands.

 

He would have spent the rest of the night obsessing – ahem, _dwelling_ over the conundrum had his phone not suddenly vibrated in his pocket, making him jump. He fished it out, grinned all over his face at the name on the display screen, and instantly opened the message from Harry.

 

**I had a good night tonight. We should do it again some time. You’ve made quite an impression on the guys – they both want to see you again. Niall’s being very... _insistent_ on it. If you’re not too emotionally scarred by the first meeting, maybe we could all meet up again in a couple of days. What do you think? :) .xx**

Louis was about to reply, and then another text popped up, a hurried afterthought of the first.

 

**I mean, only if you want to, or anything.**

 

**I’m not trying to like, pressure you or anything.**

Grinning, Louis tapped back his own message in reply, and as he sent it he wondered whether he should have waited and given Harry two heart attacks rather than the single one that he was guessing would strike the moment he received the message.

 

_How’s Monday sound? :) xx_


	9. Chapter 9

Their third date ever was a movie, and Niall and Zayn tagged along just like they had on the second. Louis didn’t care; he was still going to count it as a date. They went to see an eighteen certificate movie but Niall had dropped his ID in a puddle, and the woman on the counter took one look at his now smudgy photo and the new red streaks in his hair and refused to believe it was him, so they switched movies and watched a cartoon instead. The animation was jerky and the slapstick comedy was vaguely amusing at best (although Niall still laughed so hard that he almost choked on his popcorn and threw his food all over the floor by accident) and the colours were so garish that Louis found them offensive to the eyes, but Harry held his hand all the way through it and stroked the back of Louis’ hand with his thumb, and Louis accidentally started taking a sip from Harry’s drink, and they made eye contact and giggled like a pair of fifteen year olds.

 

Their fourth date was a meal: specifically pizza. Harry forgot his wallet so they both pretended it was Louis’ birthday and got a free Banana Birthday Bonanza pizza to share, and after they picked the bananas off and drowned it in ketchup it actually tasted alright.

 

Their fifth date was Louis taking Harry’s shift in the charity shop and volunteering for three and a half hours, and Harry showed him how to use the pricing machines and they had a tagging war so that by the end of the shift they were both covered in little luminous yellow stickers. The sticker dead in the centre of Louis’ forehead said ‘99p’, which Louis joked was all he was worth until Harry looked him in the eyes and told him he was priceless, and then they both blushed and Louis fell off his chair, and they both spent the next twenty minutes laughing and putting back all the books in the bargain basket that Louis had knocked over on his way down.

 

Their sixth date was more coffee, and halfway through it Zayn and Niall showed up and were oh-so-surprised to see them there, which made Louis and Harry suspect that they weren’t actually surprised at all, and they were following them around because they were bored. Niall gargled coffee and Zayn tried to juggle the wrinkly oranges in the fruit bowl and all four of them got thrown out and rudely told not to come back. Harry looked crestfallen, but Louis said “Thank God, now I can go back to crap coffee that burns off my taste-buds and only costs 99p!” and they all trailed off to Louis’ usual coffee shop and drank coffee that tasted like boiled water and nothing else, and unanimously agreed that it was vile.

 

Their seventh date was cancelled, because Niall got drunk and tried to get a tattoo of a Teletubby and it took the combined efforts of both Harry and Zayn to hold him back (“I’m sorry,” Harry said down the phone, which he was holding against his ear with his shoulder as he tried to haul Niall back into the house, “but if he gets that creepy green thing, Dipshit, or whatever it’s called” – “ _Dipsy_!” screamed Niall – “tattooed onto his bicep, he’ll wake up in the morning and shoot someone”). Louis chuckled and invited Liam over, and they played Monopoly and Louis lost because he was too distracted by the way his phone kept lighting up with texts as Harry kept him posted with the latest developments of the tattoo-prevention crusade ( _He won’t stop screaming, I’m going to shove a sock in his mouth in a minute...He tried to punch Zayn and then fell over; he says he’s broke his toe so I think we might be all right...Oh Christ, now he’s trying to eat the curtains as a protest_ ). Liam didn’t ask who was texting him, because he knew by now that Louis had a specific look for his mystery mate and there was no way he was going to reveal their identity.

 

Their eighth date involved ice cream that Harry tried to make from scratch, and then the cat came in and tried to eat some and was sick, and they had to clean it up in a mad rush before either of Harry’s parents got home. Louis made sure he left long before any of Harry’s family members got back; he didn’t much fancy coming face to face with Anne after all the things his mother had said about her.

 

The progression of these dates was accompanied by a constant stream of texts, emails, little folded notes slipped underneath doorways or into pockets, hushed phone calls in the dead of night and the fact that Harry kept wandering past Louis’ school with his hands shoved in his pockets, shooting little glances towards where he knew Louis would be stood, raising his eyebrows, poking out his tongue, and basically being as obvious as could be. Liam began to notice and kept looking oddly at Harry, commenting “That kid’s got a nerve. If he keeps parading up and down outside the school like that they’re going to set the cops on him and no mistake, for loitering with intent or whatever.”

 

The fact that they both knew he was wandering past just for a chance of glimpsing Louis remained blissfully unmentioned.

 

It had been a little over two months since they’d first started going out, but they both unanimously agreed that it felt like more than that. Louis got on well with Harry’s friends, he was usually greeted with approving nods from the neighbours whenever he came to call, and it was only a matter of time before he would be introduced to Harry’s parents – although he wasn’t so much looking forward to that particular prospect. He had slotted as easily and as seamlessly into Harry’s life as a new part of a well-oiled machine, and nestled comfortably within the other cogs and wheels of Harry’s life; he had every intention of staying there.

 

The only issue which had thus far presented itself to Louis was how to fit Harry into _his_ life. Like a jigsaw puzzle with no flat edges and too many oddly-shaped parts, Harry was _difficult,_ however unintentionally, a person who refused to adapt to what society liked, and that meant that Louis couldn’t imagine how he could integrate the misfit into his parents’ obsessively constructed picture-perfect puzzle the way Louis had so easily latched onto Harry’s far more adaptable one. He couldn’t imagine his parents accepting Harry’s new and rather large part in Louis’ life without putting up a fight.

 

Still, here he was, standing on Harry’s doorstep with a massive grin on his face, deliberately far too early for a Saturday morning, dressed well, bright-eyed, almost obnoxiously cheerful bearing in mind the hour of the morning he was choosing to disrupt Harry’s beauty sleep at. He knocked loudly on the door and spared a laugh for what he imagined Harry’s reaction would be to being unceremoniously awoken at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning.

 

He waited on the doorstep for several minutes, certainly far longer than he had expected; he was about to ring Harry and tell him who was waiting outside since he had apparently elected to ignore them, but before he’d reached Harry’s name in his contacts, the door was wrenched open, and Louis decided with some amusement that it had been well worth getting up at quarter to eight on a Saturday for this.

 

Harry’s hair was standing on end on one side of his head, as though he’d been electrocuted; on the other side, it was plastered flat against his head. His accusing green eyes were bleary, with a clumsy, smudged ring of eyeliner outlining them. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black boxers, and a heavy white bandage encased his right arm from shoulder to wrist.

 

When he focused on Louis and realized who had awoken him, his whole face lit up; he grabbed Louis by the waist and yanked him into the house, and Louis hastily kicked the front door shut behind him before Harry caught his face in both hands and kissed him hungrily, until they were both flushed and breathless. They broke apart with great reluctance, and as they did so, Harry demanded “Do you _know_ what time it is?”

“Clearly _you_ don’t, judging by the state of you,” Louis teased. “Didn’t disturb you, did I, Sleeping Beauty?” He fluttered his eyelashes innocently.

Harry poked out his tongue. “You say that as if you didn’t deliberately come round at some godforsaken hour of the morning with the express _intention_ of disturbing me.”

“I’m offended that you would make such an accusation.” Grinning, Louis slid his hands, which had been resting lightly on Harry’s shoulders, down his arms, but his fingers had reached just above Harry’s right elbow when he flinched, and Louis registered the feeling of material beneath his fingertips, and he snatched his hand away. “Oh, gosh, sorry!”

Harry smiled ruefully. “Yeah...it’s still a bit tender at the moment.”

“New tattoo?” Louis breathed, interestedly eyeing the bandage.

“Yep.”

“When did you get it?”

“Yesterday. Skipped school for it.”

“Let’s see it, then. Come on, I know you’re dying to show me, don’t even pretend you aren’t.”

 

Any attempt Harry might have made to deny that statement was rendered futile by the sheepish grin that crept across his face. Shaking his head, he began picking at the end of the bandage, attempting to unravel it, and Louis watched him with open fascination as he did so, enjoying the view – the little tuft of curls that fell over one eye as Harry worked, the way he poked at his lip piercing with his tongue as he frowned in concentration, the whiteness of his pale skin. Of course, his face was only a small part of what Louis had to appreciate; he’d never had such an excellent and unhindered view of Harry’s bare chest before, and he intended to enjoy it. His eyes flickered up and down, drinking in sculpted collarbones and elegant hip-bones like he was parched and Harry was the coolest, sweetest water he’d ever tasted. 

 

He absentmindedly tried to wipe an eyeliner smudge from underneath Harry’s left eye. “What a mess. You’re not telling me you _slept_ with it on?”

“No,” Harry snorted, “I put it on in a rush before I answered the door. Made a bit of a dog’s breakfast of it, as you can see.” He shook his head disparagingly.

Amused, Louis commented “You had enough time to put on eyeliner but not enough time to put on a shirt?”

“Nakedness doesn’t bother me. I’d happily wander around all day in the nude – but scrub off the eyeliner and take out the piercings? _Then_ I’d feel exposed. More people have seen me naked than you’ve had hot dinners – I started a naked mosh-pit at Warped Tour last year; that was interesting – but I don’t think anybody except my mum has seen me without eyeliner on since I was about fourteen... Aha!” Before Louis had time to fully comprehend this new information, let alone comment in it, Harry distracted them both by peeling the bandage back to revel a fist-sized crimson rose adoring his right bicep.

 

The skin around it was raised and swollen, almost angry-looking, but the rose itself was beautiful. It began about half a inch from the crease of his elbow, ending about halfway up his forearm. It was nestled in a mass of vines that coiled around the flower un an almost serpentine fashion and then trailed off, forming elegant tendrils around his bicep that curled right down his arm and finished around his wrist, spiralling delicately around the intertwined male gender symbols; emphasizing them, almost. They both admired the fresh ink, and Louis felt his breath hitch longingly; he wanted to touch it. With his fingertips, yes, but also with his tongue; he felt an intense urge to trace every loop and spiral and curve of each petal with the tip of his tongue, to taste Harry’s skin, to follow the vibrant, almost _glowing_ lines and leave them glistening. To fill in each closed-off vine-loop with a purplish bruise pressed into Harry’s skin by his own mouth.

They’d given each other love-bites before Louis shyly sucking marks into Harry’s neck, then with more confidence, leaving deep violet welts blossoming on his collarbones and jugular, and Harry returning the favour with gentler, fleeting marks that would fade after a few hours, leaving nothing to arouse suspicion from Louis’ parents. But Louis wanted to leave _deeper_ marks, to bite and suck and hear Harry gasp in response, and his stare blazed over the lines of the tattoo with enough intensity to set  it alight. He could almost imagine sparks flying from the ruby petals; tongues of flame licking down each elaborate vine. The urge scorched through his veins, blistering his very blood, and bit his lip to hold back a not-so-subdued whimper.

 

His response didn’t go unnoticed. Harry gave a small, satisfied smirk – and Louis thought he knew what had put it there, if he and Harry were on the same wavelength as usual, DAMN Harry for giving him a tattoo kink – and began slowly wrapping his am up again. Louis watched hungrily as the crimson petals vanished from sight, looking for all the world like a starving man who’d just had a Micheline-star banquet snatched from underneath his nose. Harry chuckled softly.

 

“Sorry. It’s gotta heal. Tell you what; look at me like that again in a week or so, and we’ll indulge every little fantasy running through your head right now, sweetheart.” That condescending ‘sweetheart’ should have sent Louis’ lip curling with derision at being addressed so sardonically, but instead it made him rather weak at the knees.

He pouted. “A week is an awfully long time.”

“Yeah, but I can make it worth your while.” Harry affectionately kissed him on the mouth, then tugged him by the wrist and they bounded up the stairs and into Harry’s room.

 

~*~

 

Collapsing lazily onto the bed, Louis watched in silence as Harry rifled through his wardrobe in search of something to wear. Opting for bright scarlet skinny jeans and a black tank top, Harry found some fresh boxers and calmly kicked off the ones he was wearing, stripping off with impunity. He had his back to Louis, but the sight of Harry’s bare backside was enough to turn him the colour of Harry’s jeans. It didn’t exactly help matters when Louis spotted, of all things in the world, a scaled-down version of the Dark Mark around the length of Louis’ little finger embellished on Harry’s left arse-cheek. Yes, Harry had the proverbial gang tattoo of the most evil and malevolent fictional wizard of all time tattooed on his bum.

 

Louis decided that it was about time he acknowledged that when it came to his sense of humour, Harry was more than a little bit fucked up in the head.

 

The nonchalance with which he had stripped off proved beyond all doubt that he was as comfortable with nudity as he’d claimed to be,. Which then posed the question: if seeing him naked for the first time would be of no paramount importance to Harry, what _could_ they do that would actually signify  display of trust on Harry’s part?

 

There was no sudden epiphany; the answer had been parading itself underneath his nose for a while now. He seized upon it gratefully, as if had only just revealed itself and hadn’t been brewing for days, saying softly, “Harry?”

“Mm?” Harry turned to face him, tugging his boxers into place as he did so. Relief flooded through Louis; the distraction of a rock-hard boner was _not_ something he needed just then.

“Why do you not let anybody see you without eyeliner?”

Thoughtfully, Harry pulled the tank top over his head and began slipping – or perhaps squeezing was a better word, bearing in mind how sinfully tight they were – into the jeans. He said nothing as he dressed, and held his silence as he picked up the handful of brightly-coloured rubber bracelets lying on his desk, slipping them into his wrists. A waistcoat with spikes on the shoulders hung off the back of his chair, and he eyed it speculatively, but he made no move to put it on.

 

He sat down on the bed beside Louis, and just as the worrying thought had occurred to Louis that he might have caused offence with his innocent query, Harry thrust his hand into two of Louis’, and Louis obediently squeezed Harry’s significantly larger paw. The bed creaked as they both shifted into a more comfortable position, and then Harry ran his free hand through his hair.

 

“It’s like...you know those girls, who cake foundation all over their faces, and they look like a cheesy wotsit with lipgloss on? Everyone sniggers and chances are SOMEONE will call them orange, behind their back if not to their face. But they still turn up every day looking just the same. Because it looks ridiculous to everyone else, but to them, it makes them feel comfortable with themselves.” Taking a deep breath, Harry said, “I’m that fourteen-year-old orange girl. When I put on the eyeliner, it’s like I’m putting up a shield, and I feel like I’m strong enough to fight back against people’s criticism; it reminds me of who I am and it’s an outward symbol that I’m not afraid to do what I want even if other people disapprove of it. The piercings...were a reminder. And they helped to get people to stop asking about the eyeliner; far less people approach you when you’ve got bits of metal sticking through your face. The tattoos were the last, something that I _know_ can’t be wiped off or scrubbed away. Eyeliner washes off, piercings heal over if you let them – nobody can take these away from me.” He tapped his left wrist. “That’s what scares me the most; the thought of someone trying to make me normal, trying to squish me up into the little grey box that society calls acceptable. This is my way of making sure they can’t.”

 

For a while, Louis said nothing, pondering over this new idea in silence. Harry had a fantastically eloquent way of getting his points across, so that he could explain things easily in a few sentences which grown men would have struggled to describe in thousands of words. He was left a little bit stunned by this explanation, and the way he understood it implicitly despite this simple explanation.

 

“Will you show me anyway?”

Harry swallowed. “It’s really that important to you?”

“I just...it sounds stupid, but I need to know that you trust me. Do you trust me?”

After a short silence, which Harry spent nervously licking his lips, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he got to his feet and walked across the room towards his bedroom door, reaching it in several long, loping strides.

He turned back to face Louis. “You may live to regret this. Just promise you won’t turn tail and run once you get a clear view of my ugly mug?” He was hiding his nervousness behind a jokey exterior, but Louis could see the anxiety in his eyes as clearly as he could see the stark black lines of the quote tattoo on his arm that Harry was rubbing his fingers over, like he was trying to reassure himself that it was still there.

“You clearly don’t trust me if you think there’s a possibility that I ever would.”

Harry wordlessly left the room, and Louis settled back to wait.

 

~*~

 

When he returned, Harry slipped through the door with his eyes glued to the floor looking subdued, almost reminiscent of a scolded child, hands in his pockets. You would have thought he was being publicly humiliated judging by the way he walked in, nibbling nervously on his lower lip, which looked oddly bare without the silver ring through it. Louis _stared_ – he couldn’t help it; his eyes were drawn to Harry’s pale complexion.

 

Without the eyeliner defining his green eyes, his whole face looked different, as if he was a pencil drawing and someone had tried to rub him out. His eyes seemed smaller and their green less shockingly vivid; his skin was colourless, the dark shadows underneath his eyes painfully emphasized. The curls falling across his forehead seemed cute and childlike rather than disturbingly sexy, so that Louis wanted to sweep them out of his eyes and tuck a curl behind his ear. His plump mouth looked empty and incomplete without the single snakebite on the left of his lower lip. It was only now that Louis could believe that Harry was two years younger than him; was inclined to believe that the age difference surely had to be far more than that, because Harry looked _young._ A fragile, scared little boy, as if putting his first layer of eyeliner on at fourteen years old had halted the aging process and now that he’d taken it off, he was restored to how he had been before he started wearing it. Young, nervous, easily intimidated. He was twisting his fingers together, a compulsion that he didn’t seem to realize he was engaging in, and his gaze remained trained to the ground, occasionally flickering across his tattooed arms. Louis got the impression that this new, scared Harry needed to keep his eyes on the tattoos lest he forgot who he was supposed to be – the audacious punk rocker who didn’t give a damn about other people’s opinions, who laughed in the face of anyone who tried to tell him that anything of his beliefs were wrong. He was blurred, like a face fading into the background of a photograph of someone else, except to Louis he was still sharply in focus; the rest of the world could waste away around him and Harry would still be there, the most vivid thing in the universe. His rosebud lips seemed to have lost their lustre, draining to candyfloss pink. They looked about as substantial as candyfloss, too – and tasted as sweet, Louis thought idly. Ivory skin had become papery; light lilac shadows beneath his eyes had become deep purple; moss green eyelashes were the colour of the underside of a leaf, with veins of lighter colour seeping through them. He looked _tired_ , and it was odd to Louis that a boy who suddenly looked so young could seem so old and lifeless as well. He was unfinished; that was the best way to describe it. A drawing that someone hadn’t finished colouring in.

 

He was absolutely breathtaking.

 

Harry dropped onto the bed looking like all the life had been sucked out of him. Holding out his arms, he presented himself to Louis with the hopeless air of a man at the gallows, ripping his gloomy stare from the ground to lock eyes with Louis. “Here I am,” he said wearily.

Silence fell as Louis stared at him; Harry bore it for a minute or two and then dipped his head, flushing bright pink as if he thought that Louis was horrified by his appearance. The fingers of his left hand curled around the fabric of the duvet; his right hand stayed balled into a fist, keeping something safely trapped inside the cage of his long fingers.

 

“I look a state,” he mumbled.

Louis caught him by the chin, lifting his face up so that Harry had no choice other than to ashamedly meet his gaze. Squirming uncomfortably, he half-heartedly tried to break Louis’ hold, but the cerulean-eyed boy was having none of it, holding him perfectly still.

“You look incredible,” he whispered.

Again, Harry blushed, this time with pleasure, his cheeks growing hot. Delighted by his reaction, Louis cupped a hand around his cheek, thumb tracing lightly over the spot where the ring through his lip ought to have been. A shudder of pleasure was his reward, accompanied by a soft exhalation, and Louis wanted to tease the obviously sensitive spot with his tongue until Harry whimpered. Invigorated with the new power he seemed to have over this new, nervous Harry, the sense of control he’d never fully realized he craved, he captured Harry’s bare mouth in a kiss.

It was an odd experience to kiss Harry without his piercings – not quite like kissing a stranger, but close to it. There was a new vulnerability to Harry, a hesitancy, that meant it took him a while to work up to his usual rhythm, and without the icy bite that the taste of metal brought, the sparks it sent flickering erratically down Louis’ spine every time he accidentally caught it with his teeth (or deliberately; he had been known to pull delicately on the metal ring with his teeth if he was in the mood for properly working Harry up into a frenzy) it felt a little odd to him. Still, Louis was nothing if not adaptable, and he enjoyed the opportunity to feel like he was in control, to caress Harry’s lips without the distracting waves of heavy arousal coiling down his spine like the vines on Harry’s new tattoo – not that he didn’t like it that way, but there was something nice about the innocuous simplicity of this.

 

“You really like this, don’t you?” mused Harry. “Maybe I’ll save it for special occasions, like birthdays, or the next time I forget to pay for one of our dates.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis nuzzled him gently. “I do like it. I like you the other way too, though.” Thoughtfully, he asked, “where did you put the..?” He gestured vaguely at his mouth.

Taking the other boy’s smaller hand, Harry opened his cupped fist and dropped two metal studs and a ring into Louis’ open palm. Then he sat back and leaned against the wall, apparently content to watch as Louis curiously studied the little bits of metal.

He paid especial interest to the lip ring, running the tip of his finger over it, examining it to see how it opened and closed. His fascination did not go unnoticed by Harry, who was speculatively eying Louis’ pursed lips like he was trying to imagine a piercing there. The idea seemed to please him. When Louis reached to probe at his mouth, as if he was figuring out which side he’d prefer to have the piercing on, Harry’s gaze brightened with approval. He could imagine Louis with a silver glint at the corner of his mouth, and the mental image was sinfully hot. He licked his lips.

“Does it hurt?”

It was the typical annoying first question, one that Harry had been asked so many times before that his usual reaction would be to give a curt answer along the lines of ‘they stick a needle through your face, of course it hurts, fuckwit’ and then move on – but he couldn’t bring himself to snap at Louis.

“Yeah, but it’s not so bad. After the initial stab it’s just kind of a dull throbbing...you considering getting one?”

“Considering being the operative word – but yeah, I dunno. Maybe.”

Harry smiled a little. “It’d suit you.”

Louis’ face lit up with pleasure.

 

A gentle knock on the door interrupted their musings; Harry and Louis both flinched a little in surprise, and instinctively edged away from each other, although they had been sat a perfectly respectable distance apart. A female voice came through the door; “Can I come in?”

“Hi Mum!” called Harry, “yeah, come in.”

The door opened, and she came in. She was dark-haired and pretty, dressed in a  business suit and stiletto heels, with her hair tumbling loosely around her shoulders. There was a spring to her step that he didn’t remember seeing in his own mother in living memory – in fact, she emanated vibrancy from every inch of her, from her bouncy shoes to her sleek hair, and her eyes were bright and lacked the dullness that adulthood unceremoniously dumps onto so many (along with a heavy burden of responsibility onto their shoulders). She certainly looked too young to have a child as old as Harry.

 

Then she spotted Harry with his pale complexion, looking so much more vulnerable than usual, almost fragile without his eyeliner and the silver glinting in his mouth that Louis had never realized made him look so much older. He still looked gorgeous, of course, but there was a kind of uncertainty lingering about him that showed that even here, in his own home, without the accessories he felt uncomfortable. Surprised, she blinked at his appearance as if the sight of her own son with his barriers down was strange to her – and then her gaze flickered to Louis, sitting beside him on the bed, and her eyebrows flew up, almost vanishing into her hair with the extent of her astonishment.

 

For a few seconds, she _stared_ , not at her son but at the blue eyed boy next to him, who was struggling not to turn post-box red with embarrassment because he couldn’t forget that the last time he had clapped eyes on Anne, he’d been listening to his whole family slagging her off from only a few metres away and doing nothing to intervene _._ Louis sat and stared at his hands and struggled not to squirm underneath her appraising look, but Harry coughed gently and raised his eyebrows at her, and when she looked up at him she seemed to recover slightly.

 

“Hello,” she said. She gave Louis a brilliant smile that showed exactly where Harry’s megawatt grin came from and also showed that she had no idea who he was.

Louis smiled uncomfortably back.

After waiting for a moment to see if she was going to say anything else, Harry commandeered her attention once again by asking, “What’s up, did you want something?”

“Your sister’s on the phone, she’d like a word,” Anne told him.

Immediately, Harry leapt up and shot out of the room, so quickly that Louis didn’t have time to register the look on his face, but he was willing to bet a substantial amount of money that it would be that achingly beautiful blazing grin that was slowly beginning to seep into his every conscious thought, the smile that he never thought he could get enough of, the expression that he wanted to spend the rest of his life putting on Harry’s face. Anne smiled after him, shaking her head, and then she walked over and sat down on the bed beside Louis, giving him another warm smile.

“Do you want a drink or anything, um..?” she hesitated.

“Louis,” he hastily informed her, “and no thank you, Mrs. Styles.”

“It’s Cox, actually; Mrs. Cox. But just call me Anne. I haven’t seen you around here before, Louis, are you new to the area? Do you go to Harry’s school?”

“Oh no, I go to the Grammar.”

If she had looked astonished before, now she looked completely flabbergasted. “You – _really_?” she spluttered. “But – none of the boys from Holmes Chapel Grammar will go _near_ my son. Oh, they’ll catcall and whistle and chant every insult under the sun after him – once they think he’s out of earshot, of course; he scares them all out of their wits – but they wouldn’t go near him if you paid them!”

Louis shifted uncomfortably. “Mm.”

Seeming to realize that she’d made him feel a bit awkward, she swiftly changed the subject. “Have we met before? You look really familiar, I could swear I’ve seen you before...and your name strikes a chord as well, but it’s funny; I don’t think Harry’s ever mentioned you.”

“Hasn’t he?” asked Louis with a pang of disappointment, although he supposed he shouldn’t expect that Harry would mention him to absolutely everyone he ever spoke to, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever dare say Harry’s name in front of one of _his_ parents.

“No, but don’t take it to heart, dear; he’s barely mentioned _anything_ for weeks. His head’s well and truly in the clouds at the moment, he just sort of wanders around with this little grin on his face, like he’s hotwired into his own personal comedy show...” she clicked her fingers triumphantly, making Louis jump. “That’s it! You go to church, don’t you? Of course you do, they don’t accept non-Catholic students at the Grammar. What did you say your name was again?”

“Louis Tomlinson,” said Louis shamefacedly, hanging his head. He could feel the colour creeping into his cheeks.

“Tomlinson, Tomlinson, now where do I know that name...oh.” It suddenly clicked into place, and he heard the bed creak as she shifted defensively, folding her arms over her chest. Louis couldn’t quite bear to look at her, rooted to the spot with shame. She sounded disapproving as she asked curtly “how’s your mother?”

“She’s not so bad,” answered Louis weakly, although he was pretty sure that was a feeble attempt to try to justify his mother’s actions, which he wasn’t so keen to do anymore; he instantly wished he could rectify his response. “I’m – I’m so sorry, she shouldn’t have said those things. I shouldn’t have let her.”

Her breath came out in a steady huff, but when Louis looked guiltily up at her she seemed unperturbed, almost relieved, in fact. “Not to worry,” she said airily, “it wasn’t your fault, and it’s not the first time I’ve heard those kinds of comments. It won’t be the last, either. I’m not particularly well-liked by many at that church; they like to sniff disapprovingly at me whenever they have the chance. I feel like it’s the highlight of their week for some of them. Apparently it’s my fault – _fault_ , as if someone needs to take the blame for goodness sake – that Harry’s gay, which is ridiculous, but supposedly it’s my fault for divorcing his father, because he hasn’t had any figure of ‘male authority’ in his life – though what his stepfather is, then, I don’t know – and this is his way of expressing his craving for male attention. I don’t blame you for the things they say, don’t worry; I know Harry wouldn’t be friends with you if you were like that, there’s nothing he can’t stand more than condescending hypocrites.” She tutted softly to herself.

 

Harry came walking back in, beaming all over his face. If he was surprised to see his mum and his boyfriend sitting amicably on the bed together, he didn’t show it; he cheerfully squeezed in between them and looped his arm around Louis’ shoulder through force of habit before realizing that the gesture which they’d both become accustomed to and Niall and Zayn didn’t even bother to tease them over any more didn’t exactly look platonic. After a moment’s hesitation, Harry decided that removing his arm would look more shifty than leaving it there, he gave his mum a huge, innocent smile and tugged Louis conspicuously closer against his side.

 

“Gem wants another quick word with you before she rings off,” he told his mother.

Getting up, she wiggled her fingers at Louis in a little wave, said “You’re welcome here any time you like, sweetheart,” and then left, leaving Louis twice as guilty as before but extremely relieved, Harry bewildered but amused, and making Louis feel extremely wistful that his own mother wasn’t so open-minded and accepting.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Louis exited the little backstreet shop with a twinge in his lip and a grin all over his face, the epitome of self-satisfaction. His mouth was aching, his eyes were still watering a little, and his wallet was now far emptier than it had been before, but he decided it was well worth it when he walked past a little red car parked on the corner, checked his reflection in it, and grinned at the sight of the little silver ring through his lower lip.

It made his mouth ache, but he couldn’t resist prodding at it with his tongue, finding something strangely satisfying about the accompanying throb that came with the motion; it was weirdly therapeutic. This was without question the most reckless thing he’d ever done, and his parents were going to go absolutely insane once they saw what he’d done – he still thought it was the best idea he’d had in ages. They weren’t going to like it, but it was a statement, he was making a stand, and it clearly got the point across: he was changing, and he wasn’t afraid to make it obvious

He’d texted Harry and asked him to meet him a few streets away, and he was thrumming with excitement; his parents’ negative reaction would become meaningless in comparison to how much he knew Harry was going to love it. Ever since he’d first mentioned the idea of getting a piercing, Harry had been captivated with the notion – tracing spots on his mouth where he thought it would look best, showing Louis all the studs and rings he had, even buying little magnetic studs for Louis to try on and staring at him with his mouth hanging adorably open when he wore them. In fact, several times over the past week or so Louis had caught Harry simply sitting and _staring_ at his mouth. It was quite amusing when Harry realized that mid-conversation he’d stopped talking and started gazing at Louis’ lips, something which never failed to evoke a blush. But if Harry was rendered speechless at the mere _thought_ of Louis with a piercing, the question was how on earth would he react to Louis actually getting one?

It was uncertain when exactly Harry’s opinions had become the only ones that Louis actually cared about, but he felt like this was a far healthier state of mind to be in, even if it _had_ begun to mean that his existence was beginning to revolve around the other boy perhaps a little more than was considered strictly normal.

He spotted a figure dressed in black at the end of the road after he’d been walking a few minutes, and he deliberately kept his head bowed and his hands in his pockets, struggling against an enormous grin. When he allowed his eyes to flicker up to check whether Harry had advanced on him or was waiting impatiently, he saw that despite sitting on the wall where they’d promised to meet without making any attempt to come towards him, Harry was bouncing edgily up and down, clearly eager to see him. Fair enough; it had been a day or so since they’d last spoken face to face. Louis had a football match to play at, and Harry had gone off to some gay pride convention in Leeds (Louis rolled his eyes at the sight of a new bandage on Harry’s bare right arm; the kid got tattoos faster than Louis’ mother recited Bible verses) so they hadn’t been able to talk other than a couple of quick texts bouncing back and forth between them and a quick five-minute phone call when Louis rang Harry to let him know how the football match went. It was that thought which had him hurrying forwards rather than his excitement to let Harry see the new addition to his mouth; he had all but forgotten about that by the time he full-on _ran_ the last metre towards the boy on the wall, stopped dead in front of him and threw his arms around him, burying his face in Harry’s black-clad chest.

For all of ten seconds, Harry hugged him back – then he excitedly shoved him, shocking Louis so much that he almost fell backwards into the road. Adeptly catching him by the waist, Harry stood on his toes and tilted Louis’ head back with a strategically placed tug on his hair, a gesture which looked rough but was painstakingly gentle. (Now that Louis thought of it, that was an accurate representation of their whole relationship – Harry looking so terrifying to outsiders but being so sweet and careful when nobody would expect it.) He breathed slowly, excitedly out, wide-eyed like a child staring at something very special, as if Louis were a butterfly on a flower that had just opened its wings, or a shooting star streaking across the night’s sky, and his attention was entirely devoted to Louis’ still aching mouth. Looking like his one deepest desire at that moment was to mash their mouths together, Harry allowed his fingers to hover millimetres above the tender spot, and Louis closed his eyes, unmoving. He trusted that Harry wouldn’t hurt him.

 

“You got it,” said Harry softly.

Louis nodded; when he opened his eyes, he and Harry were nose to nose, and he exhaled quickly in surprise.

“I said it’d look good.” After a moment’s hesitation, Harry said in a rush, “can I?” His hand still lingered by Louis’ mouth.

In response, Louis pressed his burning mouth to Harry’s cool fingers. He was surprised to find that the relief actually overshadowed the pain; Harry’s hands were cold and they felt like ice on his inflamed mouth. With a little sigh, he allowed the unmarked side of his mouth to twitch up into a wonky smile, which felt ridiculous, but apparently Harry liked, because his own face lit up.

“You know, I would have come with you if you’d asked. You didn’t have to be on your own.”

Louis shrugged. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said thickly.

After throwing a wary glance over his shoulder, Harry fleetingly kissed him on the cheek. “It’s a lovely one,” he said softly. Then he treated Louis to that familiar wicked smirk. “Must hurt like hell, though.”

“It definitely smarts,” Louis mumbled.

With a sympathetic nose, the black-clad boy pulled Louis’ head onto his shoulder and ran a hand through his hair, petting him like he was a little kitten. In fact, Louis almost _purred_ , automatically bit his lip to hold it back, and then flinched. Tutting, Harry placed his other hand on Louis’ back, stroking down his spine with a touch so light that he might have wondered if he was imagining it if he hadn’t pressed back against Harry’s hand, finding that his touch was a welcome distraction from the blood beating in his mouth.

“Poor baby,” murmured Harry, in that way he had of being obnoxiously patronizing and yet so lovely about it that Louis didn’t quite have it in him to hate him for it. “We’re gonna have to take care of that.”

Well, _that_ sounded like a double meaning if ever Louis had heard one, and he liked the wicked implications behind that statement far more than a good God-fearing Christian probably ought.

“You coming back to mine? I’ll find you some ice for your mouth...and stuff...”

These days, there were few places Louis would rather be than Harry’s house: in public, they had to be constantly looking around to make sure that no curious eyes were lingering on them; when they were with Niall they had to face up to his unfaltering stare, since he seemed to find the dynamics of their relationship fascinating and was unafraid to be caught gawping, and Zayn was far too fond of winding them both up with the filthiest euphemisms he was capable of, which rendered Louis a blushing, stammering mess and filled Harry with irritation yet managed to give him the giggles at the same time, which was so _infuriating._ There could be no question of them going to Louis’ house; allowing Harry over the threshold would be an offence punishable by goodness-knows-what as far as Louis’ parents were concerned, and even if there were a chance that they could sneak in and have an hour or so of privacy, there would always be that sense of underlying panic making things uncomfortable, that soft subconscious background hum of _what if someone walks in_?

In Harry’s house, Louis couldn’t care less _who_ walked in – as a matter of fact, Anne _had_ walked in on them a few times before in several compromising positions; Louis sat on the kitchen counter with Harry stood between his legs, one hand slowly sliding up on his thigh while the other teasingly popped a strawberry into his wide-open mouth; Harry lying flat on his back on the lawn in the back garden with Louis sitting on his chest and grinning down at him; the two of them licking raw cake mix from the same spoon and giggling without any regard for the fact that they were mingling saliva and their tongues were only mere inches from touching. Each time provoked a blush from Louis and caused Harry to run a sheepish hand through his hair, but she only ever rolled her eyes fondly and never made a comment, other than “Hi, Louis.”

Louis kind of felt like he might love her, except obviously in a platonic ‘she’s my boyfriend’s mum and she’s bloody brilliant’ kind of sense.

“Yeah,” Louis said softly. “Your place.”

They linked fingers – it was a quiet street, after all – and then suddenly made a dash for the main road, running full pelt and laughing breathlessly as they did so. Gathering speed, they ran and ran, and it started to feel like if they went any faster they might leave the ground and take off and fly away. Louis quite liked the idea of that. Every time Harry faltered, he gave him a swift tug, and when it seemed like Louis might be about to slow, it was Harry who pulled on his hand and kept him going.

As they fled down the tiny street like there was an angry mob pursuing them, Louis’ heart was fluttering more at the sensation of Harry’s fingers linked with his than the exertion. Every time he thought he might trip, he caught himself just in time, until it almost felt like he was invincible. His feet pounded the ground in a steady rhythm that slotted in perfectly with the sounds of Harry’s footsteps, and he wondered if his lip had become horribly infected already and it was making him delirious, because he could hear his footsteps as clear as day and yet it didn’t feel like his feet were touching the ground.

When they reached the main road, it was too late to drop hands or slow down; Harry gave Louis’ hand a fierce squeeze for courage and then hauled him forwards, and then ran into the road. Neither of them bothered to look both ways; even if there _was_ incoming traffic Louis figured he’d rather not be given any warning that he was about to be smashed into smithereens by a speeding vehicle; he’d rather just _die._ With his fingers interlocked with Harry’s and his heart banging so hard that it was only a few inches short of bursting through his chest and landing in a bloody, slippery mess on the floor, with his throat dry and his ears ringing with the sounds of traffic and his own heavy breathing and Harry’s laughter, they dashed into the road together.

They ran straight across without interruption. There were no blaring horns; no squealing breaks. In fact, the road stayed remarkably clear as the two of them sprinted across it and reached the pavement on the other side completely unscathed. Still, as they staggered to a halt and let go of each other’s hands, and Louis bent double panting with exertion, he couldn’t help but feel kind of like he’d just cheated death.

 

“Phew.” Harry straightened, ran a hand through his hair, and said cheerfully “nothing like a mad dash across a main road without looking both ways to wake you up a little bit in the morning, am I right or am I right?”

“You mean nothing like a mad dash across a main road without looking both ways to make you fear for your life.”

“It’s practically the same thing. Whenever I wake up, it usually means someone’s just opened the curtains, so my first thought is usually ‘It’s so fucking bright, did I die in my sleep, is this heaven?’ Therefore, waking up always makes me doubt whether or not I am actually alive.”

Louis raised one eyebrow, deliberated over whether to pursue the subject, then shook his head and let it go with a sigh. “I swear you’re trying to kill me off.”

“Now why would I do that?” asked Harry innocently. “Come on, shift your flawless backside, or we really _will_ get run over.”

 

~*~

 

Louis knew Harry liked the piercing, but he had appallingly underestimated quite how _much_ he liked it.

He was aware that Harry’s green gaze followed him a little more closely than usual, not missing a single scratch or yawn or shift – that whenever he looked up Harry would be staring hungrily at his mouth, or toying with his own lip-ring, or bouncing nervously up and down as if he couldn’t force himself to stay still. It was definitely endearing, but Louis decided not to express this opinion for the sake of Harry’s pride; he didn’t think Harry would appreciate being teased over his sudden infatuation with Louis’ mouth.

They sat on Harry’s bed, Louis with ice pressed to his mouth, listening to Harry’s extensive music collection, and every now and then Louis would peel the cold compress away from his lips and Harry would examine it and comment (licking his lips a couple of times, but Louis hid a smile behind the ice pack and pretended not to notice). Then they played on the Xbox and Harry beat Louis the first four times, then got distracted on the fifth and sat staring open-mouthed at Louis’ glinting lip-ring at the crucial moment, allowing him to win. They had a tickling match and rolled around on the floor, giggling, and Harry got a little bit handsy because he was prone to it these days; his long fingers had gotten into the habit of dipping past the waistband of Louis’ jeans or slipping up inside his shirt to caress the slight curve of his stomach, which was finally returning after his fierce bouts of exercise at Bible Camp were wearing off. He liked to see how much he could get away with before Louis got all giggly and slapped his wandering hands away, loved to push his luck as far as he dared and even further to watch Louis’ cheeks flush excitedly pink as he deliberated over whether or not he should allow this to go any further.

Today, Louis was minded to take it as far as Harry would go; he didn’t knock Harry’s hands away, instead he _encouraged_ him, grabbing his wrists and sliding those long-fingered hands up inside his shirt. Wide-eyed, Harry ran his hands over Louis’ body, spending ample amounts of time caressing the swell of Louis’ tummy, then moving round to slide down his spine, exploring every smooth inch of his back. He grabbed Louis by the hips and pulled him closer, so that where they had been sitting on the floor side by side, Louis was now sitting on his lap, and after a moment’s hesitation he kissed him lightly on the un-pierced corner of his mouth, continuing to investigate all those miles of tanned skin with his fingertips. Shivering, Louis put a hand on Harry’s hip, and when Harry pushed insistently against his hand, he slipped it underneath Harry’s shirt and traced light circles against his hipbone.

They’d been doing that for a while, Harry raining feathery light kisses against Louis’ mouth, when Louis grew impatient with the slow pace of their kisses, Harry lost his self-control, and as Louis tilted his head so that the next kiss would land squarely on the centre of his mouth, Harry surged forwards to deepen it, so that their lips smashed together with an unusual level of ferocity – one that, with Louis’ lip so tender, caused several things to happen at once: a sharp spike of pain burst through Louis’ mouth, along with an unexpected surge of pleasure that sent daggers of heat flashing through his entire body; and his and Harry’s mouths crashed together so clumsily that the metal in their mouths collided with a loud clink.

Louis gasped, and Harry choked, accidentally grabbing a handful of skin and digging in with his nails – but a few seconds later, when he realized what he was doing, he instantly let go, looking mortified. Dazedly, Louis blinked a couple of times with glassy eyes as they quickly broke apart, one hand moving to touch his aching mouth.

“Well, shit,” Harry said softly, licking his lips and leaning in to get a closer look at Louis’ lower lip. He was shivering slightly, pupils blown out like ink spots on clover leaves, struggling to disguise his sudden onslaught of lust and doing an appalling job of it. Louis had seen _windows_ less transparent than him. “Kinda didn’t think _that_ one through. It looks really sore, did I hurt –” Halting his murmurs with a low growl, Louis played dirty and made a beeline for his weak spot. He seized a handful of the sensitive ringlet curls at the nape of Harry’s neck and roughly yanked his head back, eliciting a gasp from that obscene _mouth_ , the feature Louis had lost sleep over so many times these past few weeks, fascinated as he was by it. Plump, wide, and the deep, dusky pink of the sky  on the verge of sunset – the kind if mouth most girls would die for, with that wicked glint of silver in one corner to top it all off that gave his smile that _sparkle_ – the same self-assured metal flash that Louis had tried to mimic in an attempt to also emulate Harry’s facade of confidence but didn’t honestly believe he could pull off with anywhere near the same degree of finesse as the punk beneath him.

Had Harry ever looked so helpless? It was doubtful. Pleased by his reaction, and his own new position of dominance, Louis gave him several fierce kisses, full of heat and shocking tendrils of pain curling through his mouth and the bittersweet clash of metal. He half expected sparks to start flying, what with the steely scrape of metal on metal and the heavy heat between their mouths. Completely surrendering to him, Harry groaned softly, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, and Louis’ fingers left the roots of his hair to find purchase elsewhere, slipping through silken curls to find Harry full of approval and greedy for more, pushing his head back against Louis’ hands.

Somewhere mid-kiss, the balance shifted. Perhaps it was Harry realizing at long last that the wicked defiance of his piercing and the sweet ache of his lip, each kiss bringing fresh pangs to shudder through him, was turning Louis on far more than it was hurting him. Maybe it was his own arousal which overrode his concern and made him disregard all thoughts of being gentle. It could have been some long-buried alpha male instinct that could no longer be suppressed, rearing its head and taking control. Whatever it was, something spurred Harry into action so that he bucked his hips, throwing Louis off balance, and then he rolled and was sitting triumphantly atop Louis, and resumed kissing him with animalistic fervour which did nothing to disprove the alpha male theory.

Harry’s kiss sent electric sparks of pleasure-pain dancing through his whole body, starting in his tender mouth and travelling all the way down to his toes, lingering especially noticeably around his cock. Louis closed his eyes and resisted the urge to bite down very hard on his swollen lip; he had to rely on sheer force of will to hold back a groan.

He almost feverishly carded his fingers through Harry’s curls, kissing him frantically, and Harry reciprocated eagerly, forgetting to be gentle with his bruised, aching mouth. Their piercings clinked together with a soft tinkling sound, and Louis thought that he’d never heard a hotter sound in his life. Then Harry moaned and pressed his mouth even more roughly against Louis’, and Louis abruptly changed his mind. _That_ was the sound he wanted to put on repeat and play over and over in his mind and loop through his every thought for every single day of the rest of his life, play when he was happy or sad or bored and have as his wedding and funeral songs, respectively.

Harry’s tongue traced over the throbbing place where the piercing was, and Louis wondered whether all this action would make it get infected and heal wrong, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He gasped into Harry’s mouth and his hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, and the twinges of pain flashing through his mouth were making him dizzy. He was straining against his jeans, and Harry’s hand started wandering up his thigh, getting closer and closer to the bulge in his pants before he hesitated and tore his mouth away.

“Do you want me to...?” he whispered. “I can take care of it, Lou, but...I mean...I know people can be funny about getting themselves off; sex outside marriage, and all that...have you ever...?”

“In theory, it’s against my religious beliefs, so no; in practicality, of course I have,” Louis said breathlessly, “what do you think I am, some kind of celibate prude? There’s such a thing as taking all the Christian principles too far. I may be devout, but I’m not a _saint_.”

Harry laughed, sounding a little bit dizzy – just like Louis felt, then – and then they were both fumbling with the button of his jeans, and Harry slid them down to his ankles and Louis kicked them off onto Harry’s bedroom floor, and Harry’s long-fingered hand slipped inside his boxers and it was a testament to the ridiculous size of his hands that he could almost take Louis’ entire length all in one hand (and it was most definitely no easy feat). Louis gasped as Harry’s fingers closed around his dick and gave an experimental tug, and his mouth filled with incoherent gibberish that, in the absence of being able to bite his lip to hold it all in, spilled embarrassingly over and filled the air with nonsense. The pleasure spiking through him was absolutely ridiculous; he’d never felt anything so intense before.

At first, Harry was cautious, his hand sliding almost agonizingly slowly down Louis’ length, making him buck his hips up in a way that was almost embarrassingly needy – but seeming to get the message, Harry relaxed a little then, swiped his thumb over the leaking head and got a decent amount of precome on his fingers, which abruptly made the slide of his fingers down Louis’ cock ten times better. He expertly flicked his wrist, and Louis’ fingers curled in the duvet and he made a low, desperate sound that came from somewhere deep within his belly, and waves of white-hot desire were racing through him and crashing like waves to a point of almost unbearable sensitivity at the place where Harry’s fingers were closed around him. Louis wanted to open his eyes and watch Harry getting him off; he could imagine it so well and the mental image made him shudder longingly – Harry with his teeth resting on his lower lip, a slight frown of concentration on his forehead, eyes glued to the hand which was gathering pace and moving at a speed which Louis thought was quite frankly ridiculous, something he’d certainly never achieved before.

Harry squeezed gently and Louis made a sound that was more like a sob than anything else – a desperate, pleading sob for more. That was the greatest incentive he could have given Harry, whose fingers were the only thing in the world that Louis was still capable of feeling, moving with expertise and sending flickers of ecstasy running like electrical currents through his whole body. Louis groaned and his hips moved frantically upwards as he thrusted helplessly into Harry’s big hand, and then Harry’s lips found his ear, jerking him off with finesse as he began whispering in his ear.

“You look so good like this. I wish you could see yourself. Hair sticking to your forehead, all flushed – your _mouth_ , Jesus Christ. All swollen and pink and _begging_ for me to kiss it. I love hearing you, too. I wish you wouldn’t hold back so much, I want to hear everything, all of it, don’t be embarrassed.”

Apparently Harry’s desires were linked to Louis’ speech capability functions, or perhaps it was just the fact that as he said it he ran his thumb over his slit and slowed down the speed of his hand on Louis’ cock to tease him, but all of a sudden the floodgates opened and Louis completely lost his mind, and every incoherent thought in his mind came bursting out in a discordant babble of pleading cries.

“Oh – oh God, Harry, Harry please – please – oh – so good, God, don’t stop – not like _that_ , you bastard, stop teasing me, Harry, Harry, _shit_ , oh –”

“Open your eyes,” Harry whispered, and Louis gasped, because Harry’s voice had gotten so low and heavy, like he was struggling not to start crying out himself, and the sound of it went straight to his cock, so that it twitched in Harry’s hand. With considerable effort, Louis forced his glazed eyes open and tried to focus on Harry, although with forks of lightning dancing through his vision at every flick of Harry’s wrist, it was no easy feat.

“Harry – please – I can’t, oh, please, I need to –”

“Tell me what you want,” Harry said, his voice rough and low, the sound of sex. “Tell me so loud that the _neighbours_ can hear you.”

“Fuck –”

“Tell me, or I’ll stop!”

“Don’t – you – dare!” Louis gasped.

He was a live wire with ten thousand volts of electricity running through him, and the energy source was Harry’s hand on his dick, sending sparks and flurries of delicious sensation running through him, his fingers stroking Louis with the kind of practiced ease which would have made Louis jealous to wonder who else he’d done it to, had he been capable of thinking anything other than _fuckfuckdamnitfuckohgodpleasepleaseyes – shit, right there, oh God, please –_

The whole world revolved around Harry’s hand on him, fast and tight and with just the right amount of pressure, and Louis had to close his eyes again because it was all too much, and he could hardly breathe because it felt so good, _God, Harry –_

“I can’t hear you,” Harry growled, and he kissed Louis messily on the mouth, making his sore lip twinge with a flicker of pain that felt so good that Louis yelped a little and apparently his aching mouth was hotwired to his dick because he could feel a familiar heat building in his abdomen, more intense than ever before like it was going to burn him on the way out, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Please, please, _please_ , oh shit, oh God, your hand – right there – please, more – _oh_ , don’t stop –”

“You close?”

Louis whimpered in response and jerked his hips even more roughly into Harry’s hand, and Harry got the message; his mouth on Louis’ ear became more insistent as he whispered more filthy suggestions in Louis’ ear, his hand speeding up to a pace that Louis didn’t think was possible, and then just when Louis thought he was going to start crying from pure need, Harry leaned forward and his teeth closed around the ring through Louis’ lip, and he gave a gentle tug on it, just enough to make Louis gasp in pain.

 

He came then, hard and messy, sobbing Harry’s name, and Harry shushed him and stroked his hair and guided him through the aftershocks, whispering to him as he rode out the most intense orgasm of his life and then collapsed dizzily to the bed, breathing sharply in and out through his teeth.

“Where – on earth – did you learn to do – _that_?” Louis demanded.

Harry laughed breathlessly. “I’ve been single for a long time – one has needs, you know. I suppose I’ve had to get an awful lot of practice in.” He reached for the box of tissues on his bedside table and began wiping his fingers, passing several to Louis, and they both systematically cleaned themselves, dropping the soiled tissues into the conveniently placed bin a few feet away. For a few minutes, they were silent – and then Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Louis?”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, and then his gaze found Harry’s tented jeans and realized that Harry was achingly hard underneath the layers of material, his eyes glassy with thus-far unfulfilled desire. Sitting bolt upright, Louis said guiltily, “oh!”

“Yeah.”

Louis licked his lips. He had several options, as he saw it. He had literally no experience whatsoever when it came to sex, apart from things he’d done to himself, and after Harry’s unexpected prowess when it came to hand jobs, he thought it was safe to say that attempting to return the favour in kind would be nothing short of incredibly embarrassing. He didn’t particularly want Harry to one-up him, and since he was about as inexperienced as they come, he was a little bit lost. Stalling for time, he tucked himself back into his trousers and then sat on the bed, and Harry followed, sitting closely beside him like he wanted to start cuddling. Louis wouldn’t have minded doing that, but Harry also looked like he was about to leap at Louis and ravage like a beast, his eyes sex-crazed despite his calm tone of voice, and Louis knew it wouldn’t be fair to leave him in this state.

Harry seemed to notice his hesitation. “You don’t have to do anything, you know,” he said softly, “I can just as well take care of it on my own.”

“I can do it myself, and I’m going to, I’m just thinking,” Louis told him sternly, and Harry fell silent, tracing electric circles on the back of Louis’ hand and gazing down at his swollen, sensitive mouth.

It was the intensity of Harry’s stare at his lips that gave Louis his next idea, and he swallowed before sliding off the bed and dropping to his knees in front of Harry, his own eyes glued to the outline in Harry’s ridiculously tight jeans that made Louis wonder how his dick hadn’t shrivelled up and died of oxygen deprivation.

_Infection?_ chimed the little voice in his head – the irritating, tinny one which sounded off-puttingly similar to his mother. He hadn’t heard a word from it in so long – it was as if Harry had bound and gagged it with his reassuring smile and relentless teasing – but now apparently it was making a reappearance at this most inopportune of moments, and Louis was already completely fed up with it.

Salvation came in the form of the _other_ voice in this head, the one that sounded a little bit like Harry and a lot more like a far more confident version of himself. _Sod it_ , was the second voice’s far more helpful verdict; _if I get gangrene and my mouth drops off, at least I gave him a killer blowjob first._

With this thought in mind, Louis dropped to his knees.

Harry choked – you’d have thought _he_ was the one with a dick in his mouth, Louis thought with a giggle – and he seized two handfuls of his duvet, as if the mere thought of Louis’ mouth on him was almost more than he could bear. Smirking, Louis undid the button on his jeans (he did briefly consider trying to do it with his mouth, but was confronted by this awful mental image of getting his lip ring caught in it, which would kind of kill the mood) and spent an obnoxious amount of time toying with the zipper, teasing Harry mercilessly. He waited until Harry was whining his displeasure and pushing up against his hand in utter desperation before he took  pity on him, sliding jeans and boxers alike down around his ankles.

He wasted no time at all in closing his lips around the head and sucking lightly, precome beading on his tongue. Harry’s breath hitched and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes – Louis took that as a good sign and traced a thick line up the underside of Harry’s dick with his tongue before swirling it around the tip, rewarded by a few low moans that came from the back of Harry’s throat.

After that, Louis got down to business – bobbing his head up and down, tonguing at the slit, taking Harry as deep as he could while Harry struggled heroically not to thrust into his mouth. Another time, Louis might have encouraged it; today, he regretted that the new addition to his lip was too sore for that amount of rough treatment. He was abusing it enough as it was. Still, he tried to compensate by taking Harry as deep as he dared, until he choked a little and his eyes watered.

The little whimpers being tugged from Harry’s open mouth with every bob of Louis’ head were so hot that he could barely breathe – as if Harry’s dick wasn’t making that problematic as it was. He did everything in his power to coax more of them from Harry’s throat, doing all the tricks he’d seen in the limited amount of porn videos he’d sneakily managed to watch, and improvising a great deal too, but apparently he was doing something right, because Harry was rapidly coming undone, and so were his clamped-together lips.

“Louis – please, oh please, yeah, fuck – like that, _oh_ ,” he cried frantically, “ _There_ , Louis, shit, I can’t, _Louis_ , m’gonna – gonna –”

Louis wanted to tell him how hot he looked, so pink and flushed with his curls sweaty, eyes glazed over like algae on a frozen pond, almost _sobbing_ with pleasure and need, but he had to mind his manners (“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Louis dear, it’s terribly impolite”) so he contented himself with humming around Harry’s dick, and as he did so he pulled back and trailed the icy edge of his lip ring across the head of Harry’s cock.

Harry stiffened and came with a cry, and Louis made the split-second decision to catch it in his mouth for the simple (and very unromantic) reason that it was neater that way. He swallowed to avoid the awkwardness of having to make a dash for the bathroom to spit a mouthful of cum into the sink, wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar taste, then tucked Harry back into his pats and pulled his jeans up for him in a manner that was almost businesslike, if it weren’t for the tender expression on his face as he did so.

Looking a little bit shell-shocked, Harry lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, still breathing heavily.

“You okay?” Louis asked, lying beside him and nudging him to get him to move up a little. He rested his head on Harry’s chest.

“ _God_ ,” Harry said hoarsely.

“You can call me Louis,” Louis instantly bounced back with a grin, then the smile slid off his face as he realized what he’d just said. “Oh, fuck, I didn’t – that wasn’t – I’m not – ” He sent an apologetic gaze skywards, imploring God to be reasonable and accept that one’s tongue tends to run away with itself when you’ve just given your first very successful blowjob and watched far too many daytime TV shows beforehand.

“Don’t worry,” said Harry, kissing the top of his head. “I don’t think he’ll hold it against you.”

“Mm. Maybe he’ll let me off as it’s a first offence.” He tilted his head back to meet Harry’s gaze. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fucked,” Harry said promptly, to which Louis responded with an eye-roll. “Damn, that was incredible. I’ve never had a blowjob like that in my whole life... Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Licking his lips, Louis said thoughtfully, “I’ve been known to on previous occasions, but perhaps not tonight.” (If he gained some kind of extremely perverse satisfaction from the thought of kissing his mum with lips that had been wrapped around Harry Styles’ cock a few hours previously, he hoped nobody would hold it against him. There was just an extremely sweet sense of irony to it.)

“Brush your teeth first,” Harry advised, and then the front door banged downstairs, and they both jumped and hastily scrambled into sitting positions, Louis hastily wiping his mouth on the back of his hand whilst Harry kicked the bin full of tissues further underneath his bed, like he was afraid his mother might go rooting through the rubbish if it was left on display.

A minute or so later, a knock on the door announced Anne’s presence, and Harry invited her in with some trepidation. He was terribly afraid that her mum-instincts would kick in and she would know exactly what they’d been doing mere minutes before she’d arrived (he could only thank God that she hadn’t arrived mid-handjob, or while Harry still had his dick in Louis’ mouth.) From the moment she stuck her head around the door and set eyes on the pair of dishevelled, blushing boys squashed up on the bed together, her eyes started twinkling with amusement.

“Hey, Louis.”

“Hi, Mrs. Cox,” Louis said, with a nervous wave.

“Anne,” she chastised gently, then “I like your lip piercing dear; it suits you. I take it that was Harry’s idea? He does have a talent for persuading people to venture towards places they swore they never would with needles.” She seemed to be enjoying some kind of private joke.

“My idea, his choice,” Harry said sternly, “I wasn’t even there. And I hope you aren’t referring to the time Sophia-Mae got those nipple piercings, because _that_ was not what I had in mind when I told her she should get something done and I didn’t even know what she was getting pierced until she took her top off –”

“Of course not, dear,” she said with some amusement, “now why on earth would I insinuate something like that?” Turning to Louis, she asked “are you staying for tea, Louis? Because if you are I should probably put on some more chips.”

“Thank you, but no,” Louis said, getting to his feet, “I’d best be getting back. Mum will be expecting me. Thanks, I’ll – I’ll see you later, Harry.” After a moment’s hesitation, he dived in and kissed Harry hastily on the mouth, flinching at the answering twinge from his lip, then straightened up and hurried out of the room, blushing profusely.

Anne shot Harry a grin so enormous that he half expected her to pull a cheek muscle or something.

“ _Shudduppp_ ,” he said, hiding his face in his hands with embarrassment, but in truth, he was ridiculously pleased, and the proportions of his own smile threatened to make his face ache.

~*~

 

Louis walked down  Harry’s road, fighting the grin on his face in order to save his lip, but practically _glowing_ with happiness, feeling so light and airy that he wouldn’t have been surprised to have left the ground altogether and floated off into the sky as if gravity had released him along with what felt like all of his other obligations. His mouth ached. There was a new sensitivity on his crotch that reminded him of its presence with every step.

 He didn’t think he’d ever felt so free.

 


	11. Chapter 11

So distracted was Louis, his head so thoroughly in the clouds, that he didn’t even think to act contrite when he got home. When he burst through the front door, twenty minutes late, hands in his pockets, shoelaces undone, whistling loudly, hair a mess, eyes sparkling, it was to find his mother waiting at the foot of the staircase with her arms folded, scowling. He bounced over the threshold, slammed the door behind him, and exclaimed “Evening!”

Her jaw dropped. For a moment, Louis was confused by her shock, unable to identify what could possibly have caused it – but then he licked his lips anxiously, his tongue flicked over the metal ring, and his mouth went dry with the responding pang as he realized what she was staring at. His mother gazed at him in abject horror, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open in disgust. She touched her lips with her fingertips as if she could feel metal in her own mouth, while her free hand grasped wildly at the silver crucifix hanging around her neck. Louis’ heart was hammering against his own identical necklace as he cautiously watched her, trying to judge her next reaction.

Jay licked her lips. “Where have you been?” she whispered.

He had to hold back a grimace; it was not the question he had expected, nor one he could easily answer. If she had assaulted him with a host of questions about his piercing, he could probably have deflected them with some pretty sob story – among others, the main contenders for his falsehood were that it was for charity and he was being sponsored, that it was a magnetic one he was wearing as a joke (though this could easily be disproved and would expose him immediately if she tried to take it out) or that he was doing it for some form of school sociology project to see how people reacted to him differently with facial piercings – but this question was not one he was equipped to deal with, and he was more than a little lost for words.

“Look, before you start freaking out –” he began, head spinning as he frantically shuffled through the options in his brain trying to figure out the most diplomatic and parentally-approved lie –

“ _Where._ Have you been?” She looked as if she might start shrieking, trembling all over, her knuckles white as she gripped the silver cross dangling around her neck, clearly not in the mood for any of the feeble evasions that Louis could have given her, nor the kind of mood where he could win her over with a smile and an offer to make a cup of tea. Warily, he edged backwards a little, hoping to escape from the aura of slow-burning anger that he could feel simmering around her, but her eyes hardened, and he could see that his obvious nervousness had, if anything, only made things worse. He fought the urge to curse. That _wouldn’t_ be particularly helpful.

“Out...with some friends,” he said weakly. That was the truth.

He had to try, but of course he knew she wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “ _Which_ friends?”

“You don’t know them.” That was his first lie. She knew all too well the boy with the tangle of deep brown hair, the twinkling green eyes rimmed with a thick outline of black, the dramatic designs and quotes inked starkly up his pale arms.

“You didn’t meet them at school, I take it.”

“No,” agreed Louis. Definitely not. His headmaster would sooner light himself – and the school – on fire than allow Harry to set one foot in the grounds.

“Nor from church.”

Admitting that he’d been associating with someone who wasn’t a regular churchgoer would probably be one of the worst things he could have said, and the best way to inspire a long and arduous lecture from her about how showing your faith was one of the most important things a person could do and how wrong it was not to attend church, so Louis quickly said “They don’t go to our church.” Again, not a direct lie. If he failed to mention that this mysterious friend hadn’t been to any form of church since the age of fourteen and was pretty much banned from doing so, then it wasn’t a lie – just omitting a few details from his story.

“Then where did you meet these friends, if not from school or church? You don’t _go_ anywhere – or at least, you never used to. It seems like you’re never in the house these past few weeks...” she mused, then came back to herself with a little jerk, eyeing him suspiciously.

If possible, Louis wanted to avoid the subject of where he was spending all his time these days – the fewer lies he could tell, the better. He wasn’t _enjoying_ all of this deception. And he didn’t like having to hide things from his family – they were close-minded, often rude and forcibly ignorant, refusing to even _try_ to understand other people’s views (having once shared these values himself, he easily recognized them and felt a little sickened) but they were still his family. He did love them, even if he didn’t particularly like them anymore. Which was why he said truthfully, without coming up with an answer which would be more likely to satisfy her and reduce the amount of trouble he was in by at least a tiny bit, “At the music store.”

“HMV?”

“ _Yes,_ HMV, why does it matter? What other music stores are there?”

She folded her arms defensively. “There’s...there’s that little music shop next to the library!”

“Mum,” Louis said impatiently, “they sell _vinyl records._ ”

“Don’t change the subject! How do you mean, you met them at the music store? Did you arrange to meet them there beforehand?”

“No,” Louis said, fighting to keep his temper in check although his irritation was simmering closely under the surface, quickly becoming anger as it came to the boil. “We were both in the shop at the same time, looking at the same CD. We got talking about the band, and then –” _and then he ran out of the shop in a rush to help an old lady who needed assistance while I ran like the wind in the other direction because I was terrified of him_ “ – we talked about some other stuff, like school and that, and realized we had quite a lot in common –” _I figured out I had a massive crush on him and we both like guys and he taught me how not to be an arsehole about it_ “ – so we just kind of became mates, really. We hang out quite a lot now.” _I go round to his house and we listen to bands that you would disapprove of so and if you heard them you would probably fetch holy water to drown the members in, hang out with his friends at places you wouldn’t be seen dead in, and then we slope off to his house and snog while his mother offers me pie and treats me like her second son despite the fact that our whole family is always horrifically rude to her. Oh, and I just gave him a blowjob._ This last thought made Louis very nervous; despite having checked his reflection in the windows of every parked car he passed on the way home, he was still paranoid that there might be some kind of telltale stains around his mouth or on his shirt or something. He worriedly licked his lips.

Continuing to eye him speculatively, Jay frowned, clearly lost in thought. All of a sudden, her eyes widened with excitement, and she demanded “Is it a girl?”

He couldn’t help himself; he _snorted._ His mother had jumped to the obvious – and correct – conclusion that he was having a secret relationship with someone. Thanks to the gender neutral pronouns and his stubborn use of ‘they’ rather than ‘he’, he had an opportunity to hide behind this imaginary girlfriend and hopefully fend off any suspicions that he’d been ‘hanging out with the wrong crowd’.

The negative side, however, was that if he took this chance and ran with it, stringing her along and pretending there _was_ a secret girlfriend in the equation, not only would she be angry that he’d neglected to tell her about said girlfriend, but she would also demand to meet her, meaning that Louis would have to find a girl willing to endure his parents’ scrutiny, pretend to be his girlfriend _and_ maintain the facade for a prolonged amount of time in order to satisfy them, going on hundreds of family outings, attending meals and dates set by his mother in order to judge whether the girl was ‘suitable’ enough for Louis. He could also imagine her relentlessly grilling any ‘girlfriend’ on her religious beliefs, refusing to allow her back over the threshold if she wasn’t a strict Catholic, and demanding to meet her parents within mere days of meeting the girl herself.

Adding that to the fact that there was in fact no girl, and no one for his parents to terrorize until she ran away screaming and left their precious little boy alone, he was pretty sure that it was a terrible idea.

“No, it’s not a girl,” he said wearily.

She looked relieved, yet disappointed at the same time. “Well, then who –”

Louis abruptly cut her off, tired of her questions. His mouth was sore, he was tired, and he was fed up with fending off questions and having to answer for every little decision, like who he decided to spend his time with and what he chose to do to his own face. “Look, do we really have to do this now? I’m tired, my mouth hurts, I’m not really in the mood for this right now –”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, so your _mouth_ hurts, does it? Fancy that. Who would have thought it – that having an enormous hole pierced through your mouth and an ugly hunk of metal pushed through that hole could _possibly_ make your mouth sore? I never would have thought it, would you?” Her expression soured. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you whether it’s real or not; I can tell by the look on your face.”

“It’s real,” said Louis with a strange sense of satisfaction.

She shook her head, momentarily closing her eyes, and then raised a hand towards his face. Instinctively, Louis flinched, afraid that she might hit him, but she simply cupped her cool hand around his flushed face, stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb. She wore deep red nail varnish and a cluster of gold rings on her fingers which made him think of Niall, and he had to resist the urge to throw her hand off with a shiver of disgust. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he hated the feel of her cold hands on him, leaving his skin prickling unpleasantly, making him cringe. Compared to Harry’s light, warm touch, skin on skin contact with his own mother was repulsive – Louis was almost shocked by the intensity of his disgust. How could he hate her so? She was his mother. She had been like a best friend to him.

But, Louis reminded himself, she had also fed him with poisonous stigma, teaching him to discriminate, pouring nasty words and cruel sentiments into his mind, filling him up to the brim until not only did he believe her words as strongly as if they were the Bible, but that he followed her blindly like a disciple, parroting everything she’d taught him and believing in it implicitly. Remembering the ugly things he’d said and heard said about Harry before he’d begun to realize that there was more to the world than what his mother said, he flushed with anger, and the urge to knock her hand away rose inside him, less of an unscratched itch and more of a desperate desire that he could barely keep at bay any more. Louis took slow, deep breaths through his nose and struggled to stay calm – forget simmering; he was _way_ past boiling point now, about to overflow.

“What on earth have you done, you stupid boy?” she asked softly. “How on earth could you do this to yourself? Have you _seen_ what you look like?” Spinning him around, she pulled him in front of the mirror in the hallway and gestured at his reflection. “Look at the state of you!”

He eyed himself with interest. It was the clearest view he’d had of the piercing all day, and he spent a long time staring at his own face, trying to judge how it looked – how _he_ looked. His conclusion was that he looked less _vulnerable_ than he had. Hair standing on end – ruffled all over the place by Harry’s hands – glowing cheeks, blue eyes wide and speculative, and then of course there was the cool gleam of metal nestled against his lower lip, contrasting well against his tanned complexion, lending a slightly mocking twist to his mouth so that he looked like he was filled with contempt without making the slightest bit of effort. Raising an eyebrow, Louis teased the piercing with his tongue and enjoyed the sight of his newly cynical expression. He looked fearless, strong, the kind of guy who could stand up to his mother’s criticism and bigoted opinions without thinking twice. Confident, self-assured – for the first time, he felt like he could empathize with Harry’s need for his own piercings and eyeliner; before he had understood, but now he _understood._ Standing by his mother’s side, he was not the same Louis who had walked out through the front door that morning, and he thought that she knew it just as well as he did, which would certainly explain why all the colour had drained from her face and she looked so worried.

Louis fought the urge to grin at his reflection.

“I hope you’re going to take it out now.” Louis turned to face her as Jay held her hand out, waiting for him to drop the metal ring into her palm. It wasn’t a request.

He swallowed, thought of Harry and his aura of calm confidence, and tried to copy it. Wasn’t that what all of this was about, anyway? Blindly mimicking Harry to try and win some of the self-assurance that seemed to come so naturally to him and yet Louis knew had taken years to construct into the practically impenetrable armour he wore today?

“I’m not,” he said softly.

Jay raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I’m...I’m not going to take it out. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care whether you want to or not. I’m your mother and I’m telling you to take that ridiculous thing out of your mouth _now_!”

“No.”

“Take it out!”

“No.”

She looked a little hysterical. “Take it out this instant, Louis, or so help me –”

Every assertive sentence had been another piece of his armour, building it up around him. “You can’t make me.”

Seizing the crucifix necklace around her neck as if trying to ward off evil, Jay cried “You think you’re so witty, don’t you, with your smart answers? I suppose you think you’re clever. God will punish you for your disobedience –”

“Mum, I really don’t think God gives a damn about one tiny little lip piercing.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her expression darkened, and before Louis could so much as take a step backwards, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

It wasn’t a gentle slap – if there is such thing – she put the whole force of her body behind it, so much so that he staggered with the force of it, his ears ringing. He hadn’t expected her to physically hit him, hadn’t had time to defend himself or back away, and it was the shock more than anything that brought tears to his eyes, one of them betraying him by rolling down his cheek. Touching his burning cheek, he gave a little cry. His armour hadn’t defended him against this.

But, he comforted himself, even Harry’s armour had chinks. He’d found a few of them himself.

“Get out!” she screeched.

Disorientated, Louis struggled to focus on her through his bleary eyes, blinking the tears away. “Huh?” His voice cracked mid-syllable, and he hated that he sounded so weak all of a sudden.

“I won’t have that blasphemy in this house! Get _out_!”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Out!”

“It’s dark outside!”

“ _Out_!”

“But – where am I supposed to go?”

“ _Get out_!” she screamed.

It was the harsh tone that finally got through Louis’ dizzy stupor and made him finally _move_. Lurching for the door, he snatched it open and bolted, running outside in a panic and sprinting down the street the way he had earlier walked up it, filled with ecstasy and fighting a smile. Now, his feet pounded heavily on the ground and his cheeks were wet as he ran as fast as he could away from his mother, standing on the doorstep, her furious banshee shrieks following him down the road and clawing at his ears like a wild animal that had latched itself onto his head and crawled inside his mind, tearing him to shreds from the inside.

_Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout._

Louis got out.

 

~*~

 

“He fucked him,” Zayn declared.

“You think so?” asked Niall with obvious excitement, staring open-mouthed at Harry.

They were sitting in the playground at the local park, empty of children due to the darkness seeping across the world like a cloak, and empty of any other teenagers simply due to the fact that _they_ were there. They rebelled other teens like they had some kind of adolescent-repellent that only the three of them were immune to; within minutes of entering a room, park or general vicinity of anywhere, it would be completely cleared. Sometimes it was useful. Sometimes it was amusing. Other times, it was just plain annoying, but today, it just _was_ , and Harry was as willing to be annoyed by it as he was just to ignore it.

Today Niall was wearing a sky blue shirt, tight black trousers made of a material which looked suspiciously like lycra (although he ignored Zayn and Harry’s sidelong glances and sniggers and refused to tell them whether they were right) a battered leather jacket, eight silver rings and black platform boots dripping with buckles and silver chains. Sections of his hair were still dyed startling red, and he was wearing blue eyeliner instead of black.

Zayn had toned down his look considerably today, opting for a cosy black sweater, black jeans, an assortment of necklaces and black converse, but he had more than made up for it by swirling dramatic silver designs around his eyes in what Harry assumed to be silver eyeliner pencil, and forcing his quiff to stand up even more than usual, proud and tall.

Harry looked fondly at them both, amused by their evident fascination with his sex life or lack thereof – not that either of them appeared to think that his was in fact lacking. He had a can of Monster Energy Juice in one hand, and he slowly took a sip, noticing that they watched him like rabid wolves, practically crying out for gossip. “A gentleman never tells,” he said lazily.

Niall looked disappointed. Zayn said “That’s just a really dickish way of saying he _so_ did.”

Shrugging, Harry said smugly, “Well, I wouldn’t like to brag, but...he does know how to put that _excellent_ mouth to good use. Let’s just say, if he ever decides to revert back to spewing that holier-than-thou Jesus-will-smite-thee crap, I’ll know that the best way to shut him up is to get his pretty lips round my cock.” A few seconds later, looking stricken, he said “That was quite possibly the most misogynistic thing I have ever said in my life, and I take it back. Don’t tell him I said that, will you?”

Niall had been gaping at him, but he closed his mouth and said “Listen, mate, if he put his lips around your cock in the first place it sounds to me like he’s too far gone to care much that you’re bragging about it. What’s going on there, anyway? He’s Christian, isn’t he? I thought he was supposed to guard his virtue like a hawk and fend off any chances of getting laid with a giant stick!”

Harry shrugged. “Louis’ not like his parents.” _Not anymore._ After spending so much time with him and watching Louis change, relaxing into the easy-going, funny, non-prejudiced guy he was now, Harry felt a strange sense of pride in knowing that some of that change at least had been down to him.

“Yeah, you’re telling me. I met that mother of his down East Street about two weeks back – she’s a right old hag, I’m telling you. She gave me filthy looks from across the street and started holding all her bags really closely against her chest, and when she saw me looking at her she glared at me like I was something nasty on her shoe and hurried off in the opposite direction, looking like she was sucking on a lemon. Witch.” Zayn spat vehemently onto the ground, causing both Niall and Harry to cringe in disgust.

“You’re disgusting,” Niall informed him. “I can’t believe I used to let you do that in my _mouth_.”

“When did I ever spit in your mouth?”

“Snogging, spit-swapping, same concept, mate. You’re gross. I’m _so_ glad I got out of that one.”

“You love me really,” Zayn drawled, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of his own energy juice.

“He’s got a point, Zayn, you _are_ pretty gross,” Harry said helpfully, and then the sound of heavy footsteps made them all pause.

It was hard to make anything out in the dim evening light, but they could just about see the outline of a figure coming towards them from the darkness, sprinting across the field like he was being chased by wolves. All three of them sat up straighter on their swings, frowning and squinting as they tried to get a better look. The runner’s breathing was ragged and he sounded like he might be sobbing, choking low noises through his teeth as he ran towards them, and the voice was familiar. It took Harry a minute or so to process where he knew that sound from, especially bearing in mind that he hadn’t heard it in any kind of distress for months and even that had been muted, more restrained. This was raw, uncontrolled, and as Louis lurched out of the darkness with his hair ever more messy that it had been when he’d shyly made his exit from Harry’s room earlier, it was clear that he’d been crying.

Harry was on his feet in an instant, taking a step forwards, mouth hanging open in shock, but before he could move an inch closer Louis was slamming into him, their bodies colliding with such force that Harry staggered and almost fell, catching himself on the framework of the swing so that they both didn’t topple right over. With a low sob, Louis grabbed him and buried his face in Harry’s chest, crying unrestrainedly.

It was frightening, and the fear leaked into Harry’s voice as he asked in shock “Louis?”

He lifted his head, blue eyes swimming with moisture. His whole face was red except for a livid white handprint standing out on his cheek, shocking in contrast to the rest of him. Horrified, Harry grabbed him by the arms and held him tight, supporting him, but Louis shook like his knees were about to buckle underneath him anyway.

“Louis, what happened? Did – did your parents find out?” He didn’t need to specify what about. He was afraid, not for himself but for Louis – he’d dreaded this, that Louis might be backed into a corner where he was unable to make the decision between Harry and his family because they had forced him into it, throwing him out in their mindless disgust.

“No,” said Louis miserably, “but they may as well have done.”

Burying his red and white face in Harry’s shirt, he allowed more tears to leak out, seeping through the fabric and heating Harry’s skin like scalding raindrops. Harry mindlessly rubbed a hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him, but his head was spinning as he struggled to understand what could have happened to make Louis so upset, and how could he have sustained the mark to his face. At a complete loss, he decided to just _ask_.

“What happened to your face, Louis?”

Lifting his head, Louis gave him a wobbly smile. Instinctively, Harry laid his cool hand over the burning mark on Louis’ face; his skin was chilled due to being outside and it soothed the burn of his flesh from the blow like an ice-pack. “It would appear that my mother doesn’t have much of a taste for body piercing,” Louis said, struggling to make it sound mocking and failing miserably.

Harry was appalled. “She did this to you because of your _lip_?”

“She did it because I told her God didn’t care about my lip. Apparently that’s blasphemous, although claiming that God _does_ care about piercings and clothing and sexuality isn’t, so I suppose someone had better rewrite the Bible and put a list at the back of all the things which _aren’t_ wrong to assume God likes or doesn’t like, because I would appear to have got my priorities in completely the wrong order.”

Grinding his teeth, Harry said “Louis, this is abuse. You know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, no. You see, she’s _punishing_ me for disobeying God, so it’s God’s will, you see? Which means it’s perfectly alright.” His voice shaking with what Harry guessed to be a combination of shock and anger, Louis continued with biting sarcasm, “the last time God apparently decided I needed to be punished was when I was twelve, but I guess that rule still applies.”

“That’s fucking psychotic. She can’t say that! What the hell is wrong with her? She can’t blame _God_ for her _hitting_ you!”

“Well, it’s okay. She’s punishing me for my sins, remember? I guess if I repent, then she can beat me to death and it won’t matter – at least I’ll go to heaven,” Louis said bitterly.

“Fuck.” Harry caressed Louis’ cheek with the softest touch he was capable of, then caught his face in both hands and laid a kiss onto his mouth. “I can’t believe you let her do that.”

“What would you have me do, then? Slap _her_? Push her away, or hit her back? I did the right thing – I ran. Not that she would have given me a choice, but I didn’t try to fight her. I figured it’d be better to run for it _before_ she threw me bodily out of the house.”

“No, you should have – you should – oh, I don’t know!” Harry hugged him hard, and only then did he remember Zayn and Niall, sat on the swings behind them, gaping at the two of them. He rested his cheek on Louis’ shoulder for a while, before exhaling deeply and turning round, his arm wrapped around Louis’ waist. “Look at him,” he said helplessly, and Zayn and Niall did just that, taking in Louis’ flushed, teary-eyed face and the stark white handprint on his cheek with disgust. 

There was a long silence, and then Zayn said vehemently “I _said_ she was a hag.”

“Oi, watch it,” snapped Louis, “that’s my mother.”

“That’s the woman who just smacked you across the fucking face. I wouldn’t defend her if I were you – you owe her _nothing_.”

“She’s family,” Louis said helplessly.

“Yeah, she sure acts like it. Look, mate, I get it, I really do. She’s your mum. But she hit you, she threw you out, and for what? Nothing. That’s not reasonable, that’s not _rational._ The woman’s a total head-case. She needs psychiatric help.”

“Thanks for your expert psycho-evaluation, Doctor Malik, but there’s nothing wrong with her head. She’s just seriously, _seriously_ misguided. She has a really twisted way of looking at things, but she’s not nuts.”

Zayn opened his mouth to disagree, but Harry shot him a vicious warning look. He agreed that Louis’ mum was several sandwiches short of a picnic (and she’d probably _poisoned_ said picnic to give to anyone she disapproved of) but now wasn’t the time to argue the toss about it. Louis was shaking, cold, and by the sounds of it he had nowhere to spend the night and no idea what to do, and Harry wasn’t about to keep him lingering out on the street when what he really needed was a decent night’s sleep and, by the look of him, some food. He’d been thrown out of the house before he had a chance to have anything to eat.

“Where are you staying tonight, honey?” he whispered against the shell of Louis’ ear, his own piercing sending a shiver down Louis’ spine as it brushed against his earlobe.

“I...I don’t know,” Louis said shakily. His eyes welled up with more worried tears. “Oh, God, I don’t know where, or – or what to do –”

“Okay, okay, shush for a second.” Again, Harry hugged him, and Louis gratefully buried his face in Harry’s neck. “You can come home with me, yeah? My mum thinks the sun shines out of your arse, she won’t mind.”

“I – I don’t have any pyjamas, or a toothbrush, or – or any –” Louis was scrambling wildly, sounding borderline hysterical. The events of the night had unsettled him, and he was unused to making quick, impulsive decisions. Not having the chance to plan ahead unnerved him.

“Louis. I’m sure we can stretch to a pair of pyjamas and a toothbrush.” Kissing the exposed curve of his neck, Harry softly reminded him with a murmur against his skin, “You don’t really have anywhere else to go. Mum won’t mind putting you up for the night; she thinks you’re great, you know that. Come on, it’s fine. You’re okay. Breathe for me, Louis, you understand? _Breathe._ ”

After a couple of shaky breaths, Louis pressed his lips firmly together. “Okay,” he said weakly.

Harry rubbed his back a couple more times, then glanced over his shoulder at Zayn and Niall, who were both gawping. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut the Mothers’ Meeting short tonight, ladies. See you tossers around.”

They started walking, but in a misguided attempt to lighten the mood, Niall made an obscene motion with his fingers whilst wiggling his eyebrows, and Zayn stuck out his tongue and made a seductive licking gesture into midair. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have laughed – if just one of them had done it, he might _still_ have laughed. As it was, he gave them both the finger, thanked God that Louis hadn’t seen, and tightened his grip on Louis as they headed out of the park and towards Harry’s house.

 

~*~

 

“I know it’s short notice, but _please_ , Mum, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. His mother chucked him out of the house and he hasn’t a clue what to do; you’ve seen the state he’s in!”

Louis splashed more cold water onto his face and shuddered as he listened to Harry’s words drifting down the corridor. He examined his reflection in the mirror and worriedly touched the imprint on his face, which had now flooded vivid scarlet as the rest of his face faded back to its normal colour. The temporary aura of confidence he’d gained had faded again, leaving the same old scared, easily dominated Louis back in its place, except with a side effect of a good dose of self-loathing left in its wake. Harry was right; he _should_ have done something. Not fought back, necessarily, but perhaps stood his ground, shown her that he wasn’t scared. Then she wouldn’t have known what to do. There was only so many times she could have hit him, right? Now, she had a whole night and maybe longer to get angrier and angrier, to turn his father and siblings against him, to come up with a new plan to ensure that when he came crawling back, she crushed any further resistance flat. Closing his eyes, Louis felt a tear leak out from underneath his closed eyelids; aggravated by the betrayal, he angrily swiped it away.

“I still don’t understand what happened, Harry – why did she throw him out, what did he do?”

“I don’t fully understand that myself, yet,” admitted Harry. “I’m not even entirely sure Louis does. I don’t think _anyone_ really gets what’s inside that woman’s head. But he can’t go back there, at least not tonight, and he’s scared and tired and he just needs somewhere to stay. _Please_ , Mum. I promised he could stay here for tonight.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to have him here, Harry, it’s just that you know we’re having the spare room redecorated, and Gemma’s is absolutely off-limits to guests; she’d go crazy if anyone had been in there. I just don’t know where we’re going to put him...”

“He can sleep in my bed with me,” Harry said confidently.

Louis could almost _feel_ the amusement radiating off Anne as she said “How much sleep would you actually be _doing_ , though?”

Louis blushed, and he was pretty sure Harry did too.

Mortified, Harry stammered “I – what – w-what do –”

“I was sixteen once, you know,” she reminded him, “I know what _I’d_ have done if _I_ was sharing a bed with my boyfriend for the night –”

“I – we – _Mother_!”

“All I’m saying is I have no issue with it whatsoever, but the fact is that teenage boys have...well, I know teenage boys, that’s all, and I doubt Louis’ _strict Catholic parents_ would be any more likely to let him back over the threshold if they knew you’d...you know...done it. Not to mention they’d crucify me if they knew I’d _let_ you do it – in my house.”

Purple with embarrassment, Louis closed his eyes. He was pretty sure he’d rather go straight back home, march through his front door and have his mother give him another matching welt  on the other cheek than continue to hear Harry and his mum talking about his and Harry’s sex life.

“Mother,” Harry said stiffly, “I give you my solemn word that all Louis and I will be doing in my bed tonight is _sleeping._ Look, _I’ll_ sleep in Gem’s room, then. Or I’ll sleep on the floor. Whatever.”

“Don’t be silly. As long as you can _promise_ me that there’ll be no _funny business_ –”

Harry groaned. “Fine. There’ll be no ‘funny business’, Mum.” Louis could imagine the quotation marks he would be making with his fingers around the words. “Just sleep. Okay?”

“Good boy.” It sounded like she patted him on the back. Then she vanished down the stairs, leaving Louis to fan himself in an attempt to cool down and wonder how on earth he was ever going to look either of them in the face again.

 

~*~

 

He spent the night in Harry’s bed, one of Harry’s long arms draped around his waist while they both snuggled into each other and Louis held Harry’s free hand, playing nervously with his long fingers. He didn’t get much sleep that night, although the comforting warmth of Harry’s body made him feel like he ought to have done. Harry had attempted to soothe him to sleep by tracing gentle spirals across his hip, murmuring into his hair and pulling Louis closely against him so that Louis’ back slotted against Harry’s stomach, and in the end Louis had relaxed slightly out of his tense little ball, causing Harry to believe that he’d fallen asleep so that before long he dropped off and started snoring softly in Louis’ ear. (It was a nice sound, not a snorting rasp like his mother’s or an irritating in-and-out drone like his father’s; Louis didn’t think he would mind falling asleep to a gentle, reassuring snore like that every night for the rest of his life). But a coil of tension was still knotted like thick chains in his belly, meaning that he struggled to get more than a consecutive hour or two of interrupted sleep before he was jerked back awake by the sensation of the flock of butterflies in his stomach, all picking up tiny knives and stabbing viciously at his stomach lining, not hard enough to make him unbearably uncomfortable but enough to keep him tense and awake, listening to Harry’s snores to try and calm himself down again.

By the time morning came, Louis was itching to be off. He knew that what he was about to do was cowardly, but so what? He was a coward at heart. After waiting for eight o’clock to arrive (he deemed that a reasonable time) he carefully lifted Harry’s arm off him, being sure not to wake him, and after a moment’s hesitation stuffed a pillow where his body had been so that Harry’s unconscious mind wouldn’t miss him and cause Harry to wake. He crawled out of Harry’s bed in silence, then waited with bated breath to see if his movement had disturbed the sleeping boy.

Mumbling restlessly in his sleep, Harry sighed contentedly and buried his face in the pillow, and Louis gave a little smile at the sight before he stripped off the pyjamas he’d borrowed. They were Batman pyjamas, several sizes too small for the boy with the curly hair who lay peacefully sleeping in his bed, but somehow Harry had dyed the little yellow circles scarlet, and Louis guessed that he had no particular love of Batman but had, when he had been the right size, just wanted a pair of pyjamas with bats on them.

Now, of course, Harry slept in his boxers, something Louis well knew after having the skin of Harry’s bare chest pressing against him all night long.

He put his jeans and shirt from yesterday back on, crumpled as they were, and slipped his feet into his espadrilles. Then, swallowing, Louis reached for his mouth, looking at his reflection in Harry’s bedside mirror so that he could see what he was doing. His reflection made him stop, startled; he had a large, fairly sizeable bruise on one cheek, around the size of a two pound coin, purplish in colour and painfully obvious in contrast to the rest of his face. Swallowing, Louis probed it, winced, then shook his head and diverted his attention back to his mouth.

It took him several minutes of fumbling before he could manage to unfasten the little silver ring from his lip, but once he had, he rolled it around in the palm of his hand for a minute or so before placing it down on the bedside cabinet. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked over to Harry’s messy desk, found a square of scrap paper and a pen, then returned to Harry’s bedside.

He scribbled on the piece of paper,

_Thanks._

Then, after a moment’s consideration, chewing his lip (which already felt weirdly empty without the ring through it) he added,

_Sorry._

Placing the ring on top of the little square of paper, he took a deep breath, glanced at Harry, and then left the room, padding softly down the stairs and hoping that someone had already been downstairs to unlock the doors and he wouldn’t have to go upstairs and ask Anne to let him out. That had the potential to be a bit awkward.

Thankfully, the door was unlocked when he tried it. Before he could do the right thing and stop himself with all the protestations and sentiments of decency running through his brain, before he could remind himself how ungrateful and rude it was to slip out like this without so much as a goodbye, before he could think about how he had just betrayed the boy who looked so peaceful and vulnerable in his sleep with his eyeliner all wiped off and his guarded expression down, and how that boy would wake up with a start and be confused and hurt when he awoke to find that his bed had one less occupant than he had when he’d fallen asleep, Louis hurriedly walked out, closed it carefully behind him and then started walking down the streets, hands in his pockets, head bowed. He couldn’t look back for shame.

If he had, he’d have seen Anne watching him through the kitchen window, shaking her head and tutting at him as he vanished around the corner.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Louis knew that Jay would be awake already, so he didn’t have to worry about waking anyone when he arrived home – he just opened the door, slipped inside and went to wait in the kitchen.

She was scrubbing manically at a dirty pot, her lips pinched into a tight line which he could make out from her reflection in the window. The expression on her face suggested that she was thinking extremely vicious thoughts, and Louis was willing to bet a substantial amount of money that they were directed towards him and not the grime on the pot in her hands. She hadn’t noticed him, so he soundlessly pulled up a chair and sat down at the kitchen table, gazing worriedly down at his hands.

A few minutes later, she seemed to deem the pot fit to have food prepared in it again, so she dried it and turned around to go and put it away, then jumped as she spotted Louis sitting in silence at the table. Her mouth tightened again and she placed the pot back down in the sink as she stared at him. For a while, Louis stayed gazing at his hands where they lay on the clean surface of the table, until he eventually took a deep breath and looked up at her, his expression pleading, wordlessly begging her not to start screaming at him again. He didn’t know what he would do if she did.

“It’s you,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s me,” answered Louis tiredly.

After a suitably tense pause, Jay walked over to the table, pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. They stared each other down for a while, Louis wishing that he was brave enough to spear her with accusations from his eyes but being unable to tear his gaze from the worktop, while his mother scrutinized him with a mixture of wariness and satisfaction.

“I see you took that vile thing out of your lip.”

Louis shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t worth the –” _unwarranted physical abuse_ “ – hassle.”

Jay’s expression softened. “You understand why I did it, don’t you, son? I just don’t want you turning into one of those horrible wild boys – you know the ones I mean, like Harry Styles, and his friend Neil –”

“Niall,” Louis automatically corrected, then realized what he’d done and silently berated himself for the interruption. He was supposed to be winning back her favour, not giving her more reasons to become angry with him.

“Niall, then,” she said sharply, “and what’s the other one called? Xavier.”

Louis held back a contemptuous snort. _Xavier._ Zayn would _love_ that.

“They call themselves punks, but whatever they want to call it, you and I both know what they _really_ are, don’t we, Louis? They’re _heathens,_ ” whispered Jay, like it was a filthy word and even saying it aloud was enough to have you banished to the deepest recesses of hell. “They deny God. They blaspheme and they defile the church, and they think they’re so intelligent, but I’d like to see them curl their pierced lips like they’re so superior when they’re screaming and burning on Judgement Day. I understand – you’re just going through a phase, and you’ve decided that you want to model yourself on them. It’s understandable. But I can’t let you do it.”

“It’s just _clothes_ ,” Louis said pleadingly. “And a few bits of metal! I’m sure God wouldn’t mind – I’m sure I wouldn’t go to hell for that! Just for dressing a bit differently!”

“But it wouldn’t just stop with the clothes, Louis – if they saw you dressing like them they’d want to recruit you into their little clique, and whisper their poisonous nonsense into your ears and make you just like them! I don’t want my son to be a blasphemer or a sneak or a liar – or _gay_.”

“I’m not gay,” Louis said quickly. Was he? He still didn’t know. He definitely couldn’t rule the possibility out, at least in his own mind, but he felt that denying it would be the safest thing to do when his mother was in this sort of mood. _Let’s ignore the irony of ‘whispering poisonous nonsense into my ears’ for now, shall we?_

“I know that, darling, of course you aren’t,” Jay soothed, like being gay was something disgustingly insulting and he needed reassurance, which made Louis grind his teeth with frustration. “But people like that want to make you like them, they’d try to _make_ you gay.”

He couldn’t contain himself any longer. “What’s so terrible about being gay?” he said boldly.

Her mouth fell open in horror.

“I – I mean – I’m not, but – and I know it’s not – but _why_?” he asked, burning with curiosity. “Why is it so awful? What harm are they doing to anyone? They’re just making someone else who’s gay happy, by being in love with them – and God wants that, doesn’t he, people’s happiness? He’s good, and kind, and all-loving – so that means he loves everyone, even gay people! God loves women _and_ men, so why are men not allowed to love each other too? Why does it make God angry? I don’t understand!”

Jay’s nostrils flared and she reached inside the pocket of the apron she was wearing, pulling out the pocket-sized edition of the Bible that she carried around everywhere with her. She slammed it down onto the table in front of Louis, and he stared at the scarlet cover with its little gold cross in silence. “ _Thou shalt not lie with a man as one lies with a woman_!” she hissed, stabbing furiously at the cover.

“But...why?”

“Because the Bible says so!”

“Yes, but who’s to say _God_ says so?”

“The Bible is God’s holy book, his way of telling us his will on earth –”

“But God didn’t write the Bible, some _guy_ wrote it! A whole _bunch_ of guys wrote it, ordinary human guys! A bunch of scribes wrote it, years and years ago; there’s no proof that God told them anything! You just have to take their word for it. They might have been making it up for all we know, how do people know we can trust something written hundreds of years ago by a load of ordinary guys –”

“They were _prophets_ , under the guidance of the Lord,” she insisted furiously. “Louis Tomlinson, I don’t want to hear another word of this from you, do you understand me? I don’t understand where this new attitude of yours has come from, but I don’t like it – questioning the Lord, answering back, practically blaspheming! I told you last night; I won’t have this talk under my roof. We’re good, God-fearing people, and you’ve always been a good son, but I want you to stop all of this nonsense before your sisters catch on to it. Daisy and Phoebe are just at the age when they’re easily affected by this sort of thing; they’ll mimic everything you do and I don’t want to hear them parroting all of this wild talk back to the rest of the parish! I’ll ask Father Marshall to have a private word with you after communion on Sunday; perhaps he’ll be able to talk some sense into you. In the meantime, for goodness’ sake stop with all of this silly new-age drivel. You’ll be turning into one of these agnostics next – or an _atheist._ ” She closed her eyes in horror. “ _Why does homosexuality make God angry? –_ what a lot of rubbish. It’s against his will, and that’s the end of it. Questioning the Lord never got anybody anywhere.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue, but she slammed the flat of her hand down on the table, making him jump.

“No! No more, I won’t have it. Your father and I are taking your sisters to the Botanical Gardens later, are you going to come with us and act like the responsible older brother you’re supposed to be, or not?

Seething with anger, Louis swallowed back his arguments; there was no point in attempting to reason with her any further unless he wanted another matching bruise on his other cheek. The fact was, that listening to her whining on with a bunch of silly spiel about how he was dishonouring God and how homosexuality was against the will of the Lord, he could now fully see the giant holes in her reasoning, the gaps in her arguments that portrayed her ignorance. Once, her furious tangent would have left him cowed and afraid of God’s vengeance if he even mentioned the word ‘gay’ ever again – now, it left him filled with contempt for her stupidity and pity that her view of the world was so stunted. She was _wrong._ The thought, and the certainty which came with his conclusion, made him feel somewhat pleased with himself; he dipped his hand into his pocket and squeezed his phone, knowing that later he could text Harry about this and they’d both have a disgusted rant about how narrow-minded his mother was.

Providing, of course, that Harry didn’t hate him for sneaking off and running back to his family like a gutless coward. But he didn’t think Harry could be angry, didn’t think he had it in him to resent Louis for his fear. Ignorance, blind stupidity and prejudice made Harry so angry that Louis was almost afraid to think of it, but one thing Harry had never condemned him for was his terror, his panic at the thought of how his family would react towards their relationship, towards Louis’ new stance on religion, towards whatever his sexuality might be. He might be angry at Louis’ parents for causing those feelings, but Louis didn’t think Harry would be cross with _him._

“I’ll come,” he said.

She gave a satisfied nod. “Oh – and I want you to stop seeing these mysterious ‘friends’ of yours – they’re a bad influence on you.”

A chill ran through Louis like someone had injected a shot of icy water into his blood.

He twisted in his chair to look at her as she began to head out of the room. “W-what?”

“Give me some credit, Louis; I’m not an imbecile.” _Debatable,_ Louis thought wildly, his heart still pounding. “You think I wouldn’t notice that all these odd new feelings and this horrible, rude attitude cropped up around the time when you started going around the town with these people? I don’t want you to see them again; I’ll keep you in the house if necessary.”

Fighting to stay calm, Louis said “That isn’t fair.”

“It’s perfectly fair. We stopped your sister from wandering around town on her own, and it did her a whole lot of good if you ask me – she stopped being cheeky and deceptive and sneaky, it broke her out of a whole lot of nasty habits.”

“Yeah, and now look at her! She hardly says a word to anyone, she’s always in her room and she wanders around with as much enthusiasm as a wet dishcloth!”

“This kind of insubordination is exactly why you have to stop you hanging round with these friends of yours, Louis,” she sang out as she sailed out of the room; “you’ll see how quickly this wicked temper and attitude you’ve picked up goes away then!”

Louis groaned and slumped to the table, resting his bruised cheek against the cool surface. His fingers curled into fists. Stop him seeing Harry? She might as well have signed her own death certificate; he’d be ready to commit murder in a matter of days and she’d be at the top of his list. Missing Harry when they were apart was more than an ache; it was the aggravation of a splinter buried underneath his skin that wouldn’t come out, and prickled at him every second of the day without relief. Already he was formulating escape plans; thinking about hiding keys under doormats, alibis that he could come up with as places he could pretend he’d been when really he’d been with Harry, people he could recruit to cover for him and verify his lies (namely Liam).

“You’re grounded for a week!” Jay called down the stairs.

“What?” Louis demanded. He sat up with a jerk, outraged. “What for?”

“Gross insubordination, cheek, disobedience, blasphemy – need I go on?”

“That’s not fair, those aren’t real –”

“That’s fine, you keep complaining; then it’ll be two.”

Growling, Louis banged his forehead against the table and mumbled a long list of swearwords against the varnished wood. It was oddly satisfying, and he repeated them again with vicious pleasure until he realized with a tingling sensation on the back of his neck that someone was watching him.

He closed his eyes and prayed that a pair of large wide blue eyes wouldn’t be staring at him from under a mass of golden hair, or even worse, _two_ pairs of wide-blue eyes; his twin sisters liked to travel in a pair as if simply being an identical two-piece already wasn’t enough, and he could just imagine how, no matter how valiantly he tried to impress on them the importance of not repeating any of what he’d just said, they’d go to his mother and ask her what the words meant anyway, just so they could understand why they weren’t supposed to say them. Crossing himself in desperation, and saying a little prayer, Louis turned around.

Felicite was standing in the doorway, wearing a black dressing gown covered in pink hearts, her long brown hair loose and deep purple shadows underneath her eyes. She gave him a long look, while he squirmed underneath her scrutiny, then she padded across the room in her enormous fluffy slippers and sat opposite him in the seat that her mother had recently vacated.

“Where did you go last night?” she whispered. “I looked in your room when I went to the toilet and you weren’t there.”

“Mum chucked me out, didn’t she? Surely you must have heard her screaming – surely the whole _street_ must have heard her screaming.”

“I thought she’d sent you to your room or something, or you’d gone for a walk so you could both calm down a bit and stop shouting at each other. I didn’t think for a minute that you were going to stay out all night. That you weren’t going to come back.”

“I came back,” Louis reminded her, and she looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.

She played with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Why did she chuck you out? I asked why she was mad, but she treated me like one of the twins and patted me on the head like I was a little kid; ‘ _nothing for you to worry about, chick; Louis just needs to calm down, he’s been a very silly boy’._ ” Her lip curled in disgust. “Why does everyone treat me like a six year old? I’m not a baby!”

“If it’s any consolation, she treats me like one too.” Louis cast a glance over his shoulder, checking that no one else was around to hear, then said harshly “old bat.”

Felicite sucked in a breath in shock, anxiously looked around as if she expected their mother to appear out of thin air, then giggled, hiding her laughter behind her hands. It was the first time Louis had seen her laugh in weeks, and he smiled a little at the thought that he’d at least managed to cheer her up a bit.

“I got my lip pierced,” he confessed, leaning conspiratively over the table.

Her pale blue eyes widened. “Like...” lowering her voice, she whispered, “like Harry?”

“Yep. Just like Harry. It looked wicked. All silver and glistening, and it tasted really weird, but it felt great. Kind of hurt, but it was _so_ cool.”

It might have been his imagination, but Louis almost thought she looked _jealous._ Wistfully fingering her own lip, like she was imagining a metal ring sticking through it, she asked, “What happened to it?”

“I took it out. You think she’d have let me back into the house if I kept it in? I’m gonna have to let it close up – more’s the pity, too; I really liked it.”

“Can I see?”

Louis leaned in and pulled down his lower lip for inspection, and with another soft giggle, she peered at the tiny hole with interest. Then her gaze flickered to his discoloured cheekbone and she touched the mark with fingers too gentle to hurt.

“What – what happened to your face?” she asked. “D-did you freak out when they were piercing you and bash your head on the wall or something?”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m not _that_ much of a wuss. It wasn’t even such a big needle. Nah, Mum smacked me across the face when she saw what I’d done. I guess she’s not a big fan of body piercing.”

“Lou, that’s horrible!”

“Yeah, I’ve had nicer greetings. Oh, I miss the days when I used to come home and be greeted with a glass of milk and some pie. But hey, I guess growing up is frowned upon these days, right? I’m not even allowed to decide what I want to do to my own face. I hate this place. I hate _her._ ”

“ _Louis_!”

“What, and you’re telling me you don’t? She put you on house arrest because you wouldn’t tell her where you were going, she treats you like a six year old – she treats _all_ of us like six year olds! She talks down to all of us and tries to make us believe that everything she doesn’t like upsets God, and I’m sick of it.”

Conflicted, Felicite nibbled her lower lip. “I...I don’t like it either. I’ve been talking to the girls at school and some of them say their mothers do stuff like that too, but they just do other stuff. They’re really cool. They asked me to come and hang out with them some time.”

“Maybe you should,” Louis said seriously.

“But...they’re really _different_. They have all this make-up and like – short skirts, and all the stuff Mum won’t let me have, and their parents don’t know about it, and some of them have _boyfriends._ Mum would never let me have a boyfriend.”

“Stuff her,” Louis replied recklessly. “Who cares? You go hang out with those girls – your friends don’t have to be parentally approved, you know. You think Mum wouldn’t go absolutely crazy if she knew how much time I spend with Harry, Niall and Zayn? Live a little dangerously. She can’t control you forever, Fiz. One day, you’re going to be old enough to turn around her and tell her where to get off, and exactly where she can stuff that Bible, and why should you let her talk down to you and oppress you until then? Do what you like. That’s what I intend to do. I’ll do what she says to enough of an extent to keep living here until I find somewhere else to go, and then I’ll do what I want, and sod the consequences. It’s your life, Fizzy – stop letting her decide what to do with it.”

With that, Louis pushed his chair back and headed upstairs to change into some fresh clothes, leaving his little sister staring open-mouthed after him as if he had just revealed himself to her as the next Messiah, and he felt like he’d just delivered a spontaneous, impassioned speech that Harry would have been proud of.

 

~*~

 

Louis didn’t think he was the only member of his family who had been incredibly relieved that his mother had given birth to twins, because that meant that her youngest children took up both of her hands, so that none of the elder siblings had to endure the embarrassment of hanging onto their mother’s hands at the respective ages of eleven, thirteen and seventeen.

There was a clear order to how his family were grouped as they wandered through the gardens, keeping to the pathways and gazing endlessly at various different plants and flowers. First came Jay, hand in hand with the twins who squealed enthusiastically at every flower, pointing and asking questions while she rattled off long-winded Latin plant names matter-of-factly and seemed to think they were listening. Immediately behind her was Louis’ father, Mark, with one hand placed on the small of her back and a docile expression. A few steps behind him was Lottie, eyes glued to her phone, texting in what she apparently considered to be a surreptitious manner, making little or no attempt to hide what she was doing but confident that she wouldn’t be caught. Trailing about half a metre behind her, head hanging dismally, was Felicite, dragging her feet and looking miserable; Louis brought up the rear, sullen and grumpy, so far away that he could have been mistaken for not being a part of the group at all. If it hadn’t been for the barely veiled threat behind his mother’s ‘request’ that he join them, he wouldn’t have come at all. Plants didn’t interest him, and, of late, neither did his family’s company.

Rather than stare gloomily at the riveting sight of a patch of wilting begonias to his left, Louis elected to people-watch, allowing his gaze to rest upon a person or group of people for a small amount of time as he quietly observed them, wondering who they were, why they were here, whether they were bored or maybe they actually liked plants. Were they religious? Did they have a brother or sister or wife or girlfriend – or boyfriend? Did they keep secrets? What were their hobbies? Did they like their job? What might their name be? Were they lonely, loud, angry, shy, introverted, attention-loving, tired or happy? Were they hiding behind a pleasant laugh and a big smile? Captivated by these unanswerable questions, he watched person after person; man, woman, child; short, tall, medium height; young or old; bald or hairy and with hundreds of different body shapes, and he _wondered._

There were so many people to watch, too; he quickly became absorbed. An old man in a flat cap, tweed jacket and white sneakers. A pale teenage girl with lurid red hair and so much eye-makeup on that from where Louis stood, when she closed her eyes it looked like she was wearing sunglasses. An anxious middle-aged couple calling for their child. A baby in a pram being pushed by a woman with tired eyes but a bright smile. Two giggling toddlers chasing each other across the lawn. A boy with his back to Louis who had a halo of curly brown hair, and wore a black trench coat with the collar turned up, black skinny jeans and boots. A struggling old woman with a walking stick being helped towards a bench by a youth in loose grey sweatpants and a snapback. Three teenage girls huddled up under a tree, whispering and giggling.

Black skinny jeans, brown curly hair – wait, what?

Louis’ head snapped up; he stopped walking and _stared_ at the figure. Oh, this was just too much of a coincidence. Harry couldn’t possibly be _here_ , what on earth were the odds of him turning up at the Botanical Gardens at the exact same time as Louis? He remembered Harry making a joke about fate giving them an awful lot of shoves in the right direction, but this was just ridiculous.

He had to be sure, but he couldn’t just go running up to the guy and grab him and hope it was Harry – along with the embarrassment that would quickly ensue if he was mistaken, if it _was_ Harry then his parents wouldn’t exactly react well. Swallowing,  Louis pulled his phone out of his packet and bounced off a text, fully aware that he was going to look extremely creepy and odd if this all went wrong but too dizzy with excitement at the thought of seeing Harry to care.

_Turn around._

Then he stood staring at the guy’s back, willing him to turn and glance over his shoulder so that he could be sure of who it was, so that he and Harry could come up with some kind of plan of how they were going to get through the next week and beyond with no contact at first and greatly reduced contact after that. They needed to talk; he needed to explain why he had walked out on Harry in such a way that morning (a decision he was rapidly beginning to regret), the consequences of his brief show of rebellion, and then he needed to rest his head on Harry’s knee while the younger boy carded gentle fingers through his hair and mumbled soft reassurances and the odd insult towards Louis’ dysfunctional family that never failed to make him feel better.

Breathing shallowly, he waited for a long-fingered hand to dip into the boy’s pocket, for him to pull his phone out and check it, then throw a quick look behind him. He was staring so hard that he half expected to burn a giant, sizzling hole in that enormous trench coat that he was beginning to think was far too pretentious an item of clothing for Harry to be seen dead in, turning his phone obsessively over and over in his own hands. _Come on, just turn around_ , he pleaded.

He was left disappointed. The guy with the curly brown hair shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away without so much as a turn of his head, sauntering off, and Louis lowered his head and sighed heavily.

So tightly was he gripping his phone in his white-knuckled hand that he jumped out of his skin when it shuddered in his hand, alerting him that he was the one with a message. Confused, Louis opened the text without checking who it was from, and his forehead furrowed in confusion when he read the short sentence that had been sent back to him.

**No, YOU turn around.**

For a moment, he blinked at the text, then he whirled around, to find Harry standing before him, hands in the pockets of his Chinos. He was wearing a purple shirt, black waistcoat with silver spikes on the shoulders, and thick eyeliner, and he was dripping with silver chains from his neck, waist and wrists. He towered over Louis as usual, casting an oddly-shaped shadow onto the grass beside Louis’, like a giant porcupine looming over a little boy. His lip ring was black today, which was unusual, and his angel bites were little spiny plastic balls, like globs of oil that had been blown into weird patterns on the papery white surface of Harry’s skin. As Louis stared at him in surprise, a slow, lazy smile crept across Harry’s face, and he slipped his iphone back into his pocket with one eyebrow raised, clearly amused by the reaction he had caused.

“Surprised to see me, sweetheart?”

“I – he – you –” Louis spun around and pointed wildly at the rapidly vanishing brunette in the trench coat. “I thought you were that guy!”

Giving him an incredulous look, Harry said “What, you thought I’d be seen dead in _that_ coat? Are you insane? I’d sooner dip my eyeballs in bleach and eat them.” Then he touched Louis’ cheek – fingernails painted deep black – and continued softly, “nice disappearing act earlier, by the way.”

Louis closed his eyes and groaned. “ _Not_ one of my better ideas. I – oh, shit, my mother’s about fifteen feet away,” he swore, casting a panicked glance towards his mother, who thankfully was still engrossed in her one-sided discourse with Daisy and Phoebe.

Harry reached out and grabbed his hand, causing Louis’ eyes to fly open in shock. “Better run fast, then,” he said, and then he whisked Louis away and they both sprinted towards the nearest available cover, namely a large wooden hut that concealed a row of stark white toilet blocks inside, covered by a homely wood structure in order to make it look sweet and cutesy like the rest of the garden.

They rushed around the back of the hut and Louis found himself being slammed against it as Harry kissed him roughly, shoving him up against the slats. Astonished, Louis made a low ‘mmph’ of pleasure and his fingertips dipped underneath the bottom of Harry’s purple t-shirt and rested on his stomach until he realized that they weren’t supposed to be kissing and Harry’s hands really weren’t meant to be running quite so persistently through his hair and he really _wasn’t_ supposed to be purring contentedly into Harry’s mouth, except it all felt so good that he wasn’t quite sure how to stop anymore.

He settled for turning his head so that Harry could ravage his neck instead, deciding that at least one of them could talk this way and he didn’t have to completely give up the extremely pleasurable sensation of Harry’s heated mouth (interspersed with brief icy flashes of metal) on his skin.

“What happened to your mouth?” Harry murmured against his skin, sounding disappointed – and muffled, since he was still insistently kissing Louis’ jugular. “Why’d you take it out?” He tapped the place where Louis’ lip-ring had been.

“If it was a choice between being let back into my own house or keeping the sexy accessory, I guess I chose the house. Mmm...oh, don’t, you know I won’t be able to get a coherent word out if you keep doing – ah – t-that –”

The sound Harry made in response implied that that was precisely the point.

“How did you know I was here?” Louis panted. “You’re not telling me this was another interspersion of fate to ensure that the star-crossed punk and Christian lovers lived to survive another day?

Grinning, Harry said “You’re _such_ a knob. You sat on your phone, idiot! At least, I guess that’s what happened. You pocket-dialled me. There I was, moping around wondering where on earth you’d got to, and then my phone started ringing and I thought, ‘oh, here he is, come to explain’, but all I got was a bunch of crackly static – your excellently rounded arse must have been blocking the signal – and then your mum rambling on about the prophets of the lord and blasphemy and you pointing out that the Bible was just a load of guys interpreting what God wants – oh, and I liked the speech you gave your little sister, by the way. That was inspirational.”

Mortified, Louis ducked his head.

“Hey, I’m serious! All that ‘it’s your life, and one day you’ll be able to stop her controlling it, so why not start now?’ stuff. That was cool. You’ve clearly been paying attention to my insane ramblings. Anyway, all of a sudden I hear a load of talk about the Botanical Gardens, so... here I am. Now, what was that you were saying about...” he lowered his lips back to Louis’ neck, “not being able to get a coherent word out?”

Tilting his head back, Louis huffed, feeling like he should at least _feign_ annoyance, and continued, “Okay. So I figured I’d go for the easy life and go back home, take the piercing out, go to church, do as I’m told, pretend to have seen the error of my ways, all that shit – you know, because I’m _so_ ashamed and I’m an awful Christian for getting a lip-piercing and I’m lucky that I haven’t been dragged kicking and screaming down to Hell by the ankles already. And I know it’s cowardly and pathetic of me, just giving in to her, but this is given me a taste of the kind of reactions she has to whatever she perceives to be anti-Christian, at least. I don’t think much of it, in all honesty – do you like my bruise? Anyway, for the moment I’m going to play to the gallery, gather my wits, work out plans –”

“Act like Mama’s good little church boy,” Harry said, then he chuckled darkly and kissed Louis’ neck again. “Ah, the irony.”

“Too right. Anyway, in the meantime, before I figure out what on earth I’m going to do next, we have a new problem to negotiate. I’ve been forbidden from seeing my new ‘friends’, because they’re apparently a bad influence on me.”

He’d thought that particular piece of information would rouse Harry, and he was right; removing his very pink lips from Louis’ neck, Harry leaned away from him, hands on his hips, and snorted. “That’s rich. Coming from the woman who teaches her kids to fear gay people, non-Christians and pretty much everyone who doesn’t kiss Jesus’ stone arse on that church statue every time they go up for communion. No offence, sweetheart.”

“None taken,” Louis said wryly. “You think I could use that as an excuse? ‘You let me kiss Jesus’ arse, why not Harry’s?’”

Snorting with laughter, Harry hugged him. “Mm, wish I could see her face if you did,” he breathed into Louis’ neck.

“So do I...but seriously, what are we going to do? She’s grounded me for a week as it is, and she’ll be obsessively checking up on me constantly from now on to make sure that I am where I say I am and I’m with who I say I’m with – which either means Liam tagging along on all of our dates, or persuading him to lie to his own mother as well as mine, which I’m ninety percent sure he won’t do. I can’t not see you. I won’t.”

“I’ll come and wait outside your bedroom window at night and use all this as a ladder,” teased Harry, pawing through Louis’ thick, deep brown hair. “ _Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair_!” His velvety voice wrapped enticingly around the words like ivy curling around a stone pillar, and Louis shivered, trying not to make it too obvious how hot it was. His blush probably rendered all of his efforts useless.

He punched Harry as an outlet for his embarrassment. “Shut up! I’m serious. I don’t wanna be away from you. A week, I can take; any longer than that and I’ll be going stir crazy, especially if I’ll be locked up with that woman constantly. I can probably get my dad to take me out bowling and stuff a couple of times, but seriously, leave me with my mother for any prolonged amount of time and forget going to Hell for homosexual practices or a lip-piercing; I’ll be taking the one-way trip downwards for first degree murder!”

“Ooh, you _are_ angry today. I like it more than I should...tell you what; I’ll hold her, you can hit her. Not that I wouldn’t love to give her a bash or two myself, but I’ll leave that pleasure down to you – you know, because I love you.” He gave Louis the kind of sweet smile that, forget making his heart skip a beat, made his heart throw itself down a flight of _stairs_ with an agonized scream as it tried to burst through his chest and land at his feet, where it lay writhing and sobbing and shrieking ‘STOP! STOP, DAMNIT!’ at Harry’s ridiculously adorable face.

_Because I love you._

It felt like every vital and inconsequential organ in his body forgot how to work at the same time.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mumbled, too dazed to muster an ‘ _I love you’_ in return and nevertheless confused as to whether it had been a joke or not; whether amongst playful banter had been the only way Harry had been able to pluck up the courage to say it or whether it had actually been just banter. He took several deep breaths, fighting to calm himself, and then spotted a small, solemn blonde figure over Harry’s shoulder, staring at him with wide blue eyes like enormous round ink-spots.

Louis almost shouted _FUCK!_ but just managed to choke it back.

His sudden rasping choke alerted Harry to the presence behind him, and he turned to face Phoebe with a friendly, child-appropriate smile on his face. He was far more collected than Louis, who was staring at his little sister as if she were some kind of vile swamp monster that had just emerged from the depths of a lake. Kneeling down in front of Phoebe, Harry gave her a little wave.

“Hi. It’s Phoebe, right?”

She nodded seriously, staring at him with enormous eyes.

“Nice to see you again. I hope you haven’t been trying to jump underneath any more lorries again, young lady,” he teased, “I won’t always be around to save you and you almost gave your big brother a heart attack.”

Louis managed a weak laugh. Phoebe blinked at him and then slowly shook her head at Harry.

“Good girl. Hey –” Leaning conspiratively closer to her, Harry stage-whispered, “can you keep a secret?”

Louis’ heart picked itself up from the bottom of the staircase and jammed itself in his mouth, catching in his throat like a coin stuck in a slot machine and clogging him his airways so that he felt dizzy, like his constricted throat was blocking any more air getting in. Someone pricked his lungs with a pin and all the air burst out of them, so there he was, empty, breathless, blood hammering in his head and through his veins. Surely Harry wasn’t going to _tell_ her, surely even _Harry’s_ attitude wasn’t _that_ devil-may-care – no pun intended.

“We’re hiding,” Harry whispered. “It’s a game. Hide and seek, yeah? You like hide and seek? We’re hiding from your mummy and daddy. Don’t tell them where we are, okay; you’ll spoil the game. Just go back out and pretend you haven’t seen us, and then Lou’s gonna jump out and shout ‘Boo!’. It’ll be a surprise. Can you do that?”

Louis went weak with relief.

Her little face lighting up, Phoebe nodded. The sight of her big brother looking all doe-eyed at the local misfit, she couldn’t understand – hide and seek, however, was clear to her. She gave them both an enormous grin, placed a little finger over her lips, then dashed around the side of the hut to rejoin her parents.

Sagging against the shed, Louis told him breathlessly, “That was fucking brilliant.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Harry warned him, peeking around the side of the building; “she’ll be waiting for you to pop up in a minute and if you don’t she’s gonna come back and see where you’ve gone. You’d better get back out there, Lou.” He gave him a little push for encouragement.

Louis clung to him. “When am I going to see you?”

“Soon enough. You know me; always hanging about like a bad smell, bothering the good Christian townsfolk.”

“I don’t mean that, and you know it. I want to _see_ you.”

“Soon,” Harry promised. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll text you, yeah? Keep your phone on.”

“Harry –”

Grabbing his face in both hands, Harry pulled him in for a kiss – just a quick one, a messy collision of lips that quickly became a tangle, Louis trying to steal the heat and the ice-fire from Harry’s mouth even as Harry struggled to give it to him, pouring everything he had into the kiss. They separated, Louis reached for Harry again, and Harry gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before following it with another shove, pushing him out into the open.

“Harry –”

“Go!” Harry hissed, and then he vanished around the back of the hut, leaving Louis to stare after him, crestfallen.

When he turned back to the path, it was to find his whole family staring at him in surprise. It took him several seconds to focus on Phoebe’s face, filled with anticipation, but then he remembered Harry’s clever lie and realized he had to act upon it.

“Uh – boo!” he said lamely.

“Found you!” Phoebe said gleefully, rushing forwards and mashing her face against Louis’ stomach. After a few seconds of intense hugging, she looked up and said in confusion, “but where’s –”

“Where’s _Mummy_ going to hide,” Louis hastily interrupted, looking expectantly at his mother, “it’s her turn next!”

There was a surprised pause as his family all stared at him, confused by his sudden apparent enthusiasm towards playing games, something which he’d lately only done under extreme protest. His father seemed pleasantly surprise; his mother looked downright suspicious, which filled Louis with alarm. He licked his lips worriedly.

“What? You were telling me I needed to act more like a big brother!”

She looked pleased by this, her whole face, lighting up, and she advanced on him. Louis cringed away from her, but she merely rubbed his back and then grinned, pretending to look panicked as a part of the game. Without another word, she turned and ran away, vanishing behind some trees, playing along with the game he had encouraged. In response, the rest of the family, even Lottie and Felicite who really ought to have been rolling their eyes and sighing over the childish game, clapped their hands over their eyes and started counting in unison – all except for Phoebe, who stayed staring at him, her confusion growing with every number that her family counted off. Struggling to stay calm, Louis placed a finger over his lips.

Once again, she nodded, covering her eyes with her small fists, and began counting along with her siblings, but Louis had a horrible sinking feeling, as he rubbed his chilly arms and groped at his neck, warm from the insistent pressure of Harry’s mouth, that he hadn’t heard the end of this. 


	13. Chapter 13

For an entire five days, Louis’ mother stayed firm in her insistence that Louis wasn’t allowed to leave the house – as short a time as that was, it still dragged for Louis; dragged like nails screeching down a blackboard at a painfully slow pace. Still, on the sixth day, she finally relented a little and gave her permission for Louis to leave the house the following day and go out with Liam, on the condition – which she failed to inform him of – that Liam wasn’t to let Louis out of his sight, and that he wasn’t allowed to let Louis go near anyone who Liam didn’t know, or was a mutual friend.

What she _didn’t_ know, however, was that Liam relayed all of her instructions back to Louis and they spent the night before he was allowed out discussing plans to evade her demands in great detail. Liam didn’t appreciate being given orders and being told – not asked, _told_ – to lie to his best friend and deceive him, snitching on him to his mother behind his back, and Louis didn’t appreciate being kept inside and told who he could and couldn’t spend time with like he was a five year old trying to play with the bigger boys and his parents thought they were a bad influence. United in their dislike of Jay’s orders and attitude, they fully intended to rebel against it, even Liam, usually sensible and obedient.

Lying flat on his back, gazing at the ceiling, Louis held his phone closely to his ear as Liam said, “I don’t know, I don’t like lying, but at least when _you_ ask me to lie, you ask me nicely. Your mother practically threatened me, spitting her orders down the phone...not to mention that it’s really out of order, stopping you from going out just because she doesn’t like some of your mates.”

“Tell me about it,” grumbled Louis. “Thank you though, Li. I mean it. _You_ trust me – it means a lot more than you know...”

“I do trust you, but are you really sure about asking Harry to come and meet us? I mean, I get that he’s your mate, but if she let you off your punishment and you go out and immediately do the thing she was punishing you for, it’s tempting fate, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you leave it a couple more days before you go out again? She’ll go nuts if she finds out the first thing you did with your freedom was disobey her, not to mention the fact that she’d murder you both if she caught you within a ten foot radius of each other.”

“I don’t care,” Louis said promptly. “I need to see him.”

“I don’t understand, Lou. I’ll help you, but will you just explain something to me? Why does he mean so much to you? Whenever I’ve spoken to you these past few days, practically all you’ve talked about is how you can get to see him, or things he’s said, or whatever – it’s not that I _mind_ , I just wish I could understand! He’s your friend, I know, but this seems different. He matters more to you than anyone else I know, and I can’t get my head around it. Why do you like him so much? What is it about him? Why is he special?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Louis said carefully. “You remember what I was saying, about how I’ve been feeling _different_ lately? He’s been helping me with that, helping me understand who I am and what I want to do, who I want to _be._ He’s so different from other people. For years he’s been shunned and hated and called names behind his back by cowards who daren’t say it to his face where he can defend himself, but he isn’t spiteful or bitter – at least, not unless he has cause to be. He’s got the most reasonable outlook on life of anyone I’ve ever known. He doesn’t try to force his opinions onto anyone, just states them and lets you make your own opinion of them, and he can explain them so easily that a baby could understand them – he taught me more about myself than I’ll ever know; when I finally stopped being ignorant and opened my ears to what he had to say, he sorted my head out more in twenty minutes than I could have in my whole life if I was on my own. He can make me laugh so easily I sometimes make myself jump by laughing unexpectedly. I’d trust him with anything. I suppose...the only way I can describe him is as my best friend.”

Jealousy seeped into Liam’s voice. “Your _best_ friend?”

In spite of himself, Louis couldn’t help but smile at the blatant tinge of envy in his friend’s tone. “Not my _very_ best friend,” he promised. “That position’s taken.”

He could practically _hear_ Liam’s grin down the phone; it felt like he could feel the warmth emanating off his friend’s face, pouring out of his smile and stroking Louis’ face like a wash of soothing heat.

“Okay,” Liam said, “I can see you guys are close...I’ll help you out. After all, I don’t want to be demoted to second-best-friend, do I?” If they’d been sat together, he would have nudged Louis playfully, but there was still the faintest worried edge to his voice.

“Like I ever would,” Louis said softly.

“I just worry, Lou. I don’t know what this guy’s like...I believe you when you say he’s been good for you; you’ve been a lot happier since you started hanging out with him, I’m just kind of scared to lose you, y’know? We’ve been friends for so long...I don’t want you to change so much that I don’t know who my best mate is any more.”

“I’ll always be me,” promised Louis. “Harry’s just helping me to stop being _afraid_ to be me.”

“That’s what you need, I think. Confidence, more than anything. But don’t leave me behind, okay? I’m not always as sure of myself as I need to be either.”

Louis wanted to hug him. “I won’t. Don’t worry about that. Maybe Harry can give _you_ some lessons on how to be who you actually are, too,” he teased.

Liam laughed. “Yeah, if I can manage to talk to him without running away.”

“He’s not at all scary when you get to know him, you know.”

“Mm. Maybe at some point I’ll get to find out for myself...” Liam mused.

Louis wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but Liam had a specific tone of voice for when he had said something he had no intention of explaining – Louis liked to call it his ‘mysterious’ voice – and the chances of getting him to reveal what he was thinking when he’d said that were extremely unlikely, so Louis sighed, flopped back onto his bed and allowed Liam to change the subject.

 

~*~

 

Louis and Harry had agreed to meet at the entrance to what appeared to be a perfectly innocuous little alleyway. (Of course, Liam attributed the ever-present little smile on Louis’ face to the fact that he was going to see his friend again and had absolutely no idea that Louis was happily remembering the first time he’d ever felt the icy clink of Harry’s lip-ring against his teeth, run his hands through Harry’s hair, kissed him until they were both breathless.)

Louis was a little nervous as to what would happen once Harry arrived; it would be both rude and quite unkind to tell Liam to go away, but the very thought of the two of them standing side by side made his stomach ache with tension. He was indescribably anxious about having the two of them come face to face, and had no idea how he was going to tactfully make sure it didn’t end badly for either of them – he hated the thought of Harry leaving with the impression that Liam was just another judgemental churchgoer with no intention of opening his mind, and equally he hated the prospect of Liam leaving with the idea that Harry was an angry, vicious and terrifying person when all his intentions ever really involved was defending himself and his actions from other people’s scrutiny.

Liam was standing calmly with his hands in his pockets, apparently completely at ease. Louis wished he shared the sentiment. At a loss for something to do, he checked his phone out of what had become an increasingly frequent habit and discovered that he’d missed a text from Harry.

**Be with you in 5 .xx**

He’d sent it three minutes ago.

Biting his lip, Louis pushed it back into his pocket, feigning nonchalance that Liam probably saw right through; he knew him far too well. “Uh...Harry’s almost here, Liam. You don’t have to stick around. Any more. If you don’t want to.” He didn’t want to sound like he was trying to get rid of Liam, and his uncertainty made him feel uncomfortable; he stared at the ground and hoped he didn’t look guilty.

“Nah, that’s alright,” Liam said breezily. “I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same to you. I wanna meet him, Lou,” he said earnestly. “He’s your friend, and he’s clearly a part of your life now, so if I wanna stay a part of it too then I need to meet him, right? Don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything to upset him. I don’t have a death wish.” He grinned.

Nibbling his lip, Louis was beginning to wonder how he was going to break it to Harry that they had a third person tagging around after them and therefore they wouldn’t be able to be quite as free with each other as usual – something which would feel odd after so many weeks of the easy contact between them that had become more habitual than anything else; little reassuring skin-brushes and play-fights and quick, silly kisses, insignificant things that he knew would take a great deal of effort to restrain. But before he could dwell much on it, Liam’s eyes widened and he focused on something behind Louis; he didn’t have time to turn round before a pair of big, familiar hands grabbed his waist from behind, and a pair of familiar lips brushed against his ear, and a cheerful voice said “Hey, babe!” Then, he was being spun around, and Harry kissed him softly on the mouth, making the butterflies in his stomach flap wildly around, banging into the walls of his stomach so that they became dizzy and fell and started to drown in his stomach acid – at least, that was what it felt like. An insect massacre in his abdomen that made his stomach churn.

He melted into Harry’s embrace after only a few seconds, not exactly _forgetting_ that Liam was stood behind them watching, but disregarding it – after all, he hadn’t seen Harry in six days, and every whispered phone conversation had been tense and filled with glances around him; flinches every time a floorboard creaked in case someone was eavesdropping. Every text had been sent, read, and deleted in an instant for fear that someone would get hold of his phone and demand to know why he was texting the most hated boy in town and putting kisses on the end. Harry’s hands slid down his back, smoothing out the knots of tension like creases on a sheet. The warm and icy contrast of his mouth and his lip piercing sent familiar tingles down his spine that shot all the way down to his toes like tiny little lightning bolts.

He could have stood there all day with Harry’s mouth moulding against his, his hands sliding down Louis’ back, curls tickling his forehead as he sighed contentedly and blew a cool breath into Louis’ mouth – but the back of his neck was prickling uncomfortably with the knowledge that Liam was staring at him, and he slid his hands between himself and Harry, gently pushing on the taller boy’s chest. With a soft pop, Harry’s lips came away from his and he looked curiously down at Louis, not upset, but confused.

“We, ah...we’ve got company, babe,” Louis said softly, and he turned and indicated Liam, who was stood watching them in silence.

“Ah,” said Harry, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and looking a little bit sheepish.

He and Liam eyed each other apprehensively for a few moments, Harry looking a little defensive already, as if he was automatically expecting Liam to start shouting at him, and he had angled his body slightly in front of Louis’, as if he was trying to protect him. (That made Louis want to kiss him again, but harder.) Liam looked nervous, but not as if he was making judgements on this first impression – if anything, he looked to be lost in contemplation of some kind.

“I suppose I should have figured it out already, right?” he asked Louis. “It’s obvious enough now I’m looking at the two of you, I’m actually quite embarrassed that I didn’t manage to put together the pieces...” He held out his hand and gave Harry his usual warm smile. “I’m Liam.”

Harry looked a little taken aback, but he took Liam’s hand and shook it, and once he’d gotten over his initial surprise at being accepted so willingly, he returned Liam’s smile with a friendly grin of his own. “Harry. I suppose you’re going to say Louis’ told you all about me, right?”

“Actually, he’s said nowhere near enough, though it’s not for want of asking. Getting answers out of him should be some kind of impossible challenge; he won’t say a word, and I’ve tried enough times...has he told you much about me?”

“Nope. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an enigma,” Harry answered cheerfully.

“The same could be said about you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry said, “Uh...I don’t want to be like, rude or anything, I’m just curious, but...Liam, you didn’t know that Louis was...” For a few moments, he struggled over trying to label Louis’ sexuality when Louis hadn’t even labelled it himself yet, then he settled for “with me. Like, _with_ me. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t – which probably isn’t a great testament to my observational skills, but there you go.”

“It’s just, you don’t seem _shocked_ at all. You go to church, don’t you? You go to Lou’s school. I kind of expected that you’d automatically hate me on sight anyway, let alone that you’d watch me and Louis kiss in front of you without so much as batting an eyelid. Aren’t you going to start lecturing us both about how wrong it is? Like...God’s will, or something? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you aren’t,” he hastily clarified, “but I just sort of expected that you would.”

Liam shrugged. “It’s Lou’s mouth; he can kiss who he wants with it. The way I see it, it’s his choice what he wants to do and it has nothing to do with me – I mean, if I had a girlfriend, and Louis disapproved of her because of her hair or something, I wouldn’t let him yell at me for going out with her just because she had a certain kind of haircut. So what right do I have to yell at him for going out with someone because they have a certain kind of genitalia?”

Harry’s mouth twitched with amusement at the analogy, then he was serious again. It was Louis who spoke next. “But...aren’t you worried about what God thinks of it?”

“I think if God was really that bothered, he’d have put an end to it by now, if I’m perfectly honest. If we as human beings have the inclination to have sex with someone, then God’s made us with that inclination; if he didn’t want us to have sex with certain people he’d make sure of it that we didn’t. Free will is there for a reason, Louis. Do what you want with whoever you want. Now, let’s go get coffee.”

Liam turned around and started walking down the street, heading off in the vague direction of the coffee shop they usually frequented, and they both stared after him as he wandered away. Once he was far enough away that he couldn’t overhear, Harry dipped his head to whisper in Louis’ ear.

“I _like_ him. That guy has the right attitude. You’ve got yourself a good best mate there, Lou.”

“I have,” agreed Louis, then he turned around and smacked Harry on the arm. “Anyway, why on earth did you sneak up on me like that? My _mother_ could have been breathing down my neck for all you knew!”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, like you’d bring your _mother_ along on one of our dates. I’m not _that_ clueless, Louis. I do have _some_ concept of subtlety.”

“Yeah, and you spend most of your life demonstrating the exact opposite of it...” He slipped his little finger around Harry’s and gave him a little tug. “Come on, let’s catch up to him – his sense of direction is hopeless and he’s probably never gone to the coffee shop from this part of town. He’ll get lost if we’re not careful.

They started hurrying after Liam, little fingers still linked in the most surreptitious handhold they were capable, and Louis couldn’t decide who was happier; Harry, whose smile was so big that it looked like it might leap off his face and fly away like a huge, toothy butterfly, or himself, so full of warmth that he was overflowing with it.

 

~*~

 

Everything was going so much more smoothly than Louis had ever expected – Liam and Harry were getting along like a house on fire. Usually, Harry could be a little withdrawn around other people (Louis suspected it was part of his natural defence mechanism that instinctively had him hiding himself from other people despite his insistence that he always wanted to be himself, just to protect himself a little from their heckles and scrutiny) but with Liam, he was his usual idiotic self, and Louis loved it.

They took it in turns throwing sugar cubes at him, which he tried to catch in his mouth, and actually succeeded a remarkable amount of times. Liam suddenly remembered to ask Louis about the Biology homework, which Louis had already done since he’d been on house arrest for a week, and Harry told them a story about how he hadn’t had Biology homework since he was in Year Nine, because the teacher was terrified of him and never asked him to hand it in for fear of what he’d do to her – something which Harry had been a little embarrassed about to start with, but now worked to his full advantage and managed to get Niall and Zayn excused from it as well.

Liam was determined to get to know Harry, and started asking him questions about his favourite colour, musical tastes, favourite films and TV shows, what food he liked, what he liked to eat when he was sick, his most liked and most disliked things about school, the books he enjoyed – the answers to most of which Louis chanted in his head like a little mantra before Harry had even had time to say them; he knew them all perfectly. (Favourite colour: black. Favourite bands: Motionless In White, Cancer Bats, Rise Against and _Little Mix_ , of all things. Favourite film: Inception, although he had a secret fondness for chick flicks. Favourite food: spaghetti bolognaise, or apples. Favourite book: Lord of The Rings, or a series of fantasy novels Louis couldn’t remember the names of but remembered Harry excitedly showing to him one day.)

In return, Harry chatted away to Liam about things like school, favourite shops and preferred extra-curricular activities, whilst Louis happily sat back and listened to two of his favourite people in the world cheerfully talking to each other. It didn’t occur to him to be jealous – he was pleased that they were getting along so well; he hadn’t expected it.

Harry touched Louis’ back absentmindedly, at that was when Louis realized that Liam’s eyes were lingering on them every time they touched, taking in their interaction and how they acted around each other. He didn’t find that as strange as perhaps he ought to have – it didn’t strike him as strange. Rather than judgemental, Liam seemed _curious_ , a lot like Niall was when he watched them, and with the same underlying fondness.

“I’m going to get a refill,” announced Harry, gesturing at his empty coffee cup. “You guys want anything? I’ll pay.”

He headed off to the counter, running a hand through his mop of curls, and as he went out of earshot Liam leaned over the table and said excitedly, “He’s great, Lou! I expected him to be – I don’t know, moody, or angry, but he’s funny and he’s great and – _wow_ , Lou, just _wow_. You told me he wasn’t like everyone assumes, but I never expected this!”

With a proud smile, Louis agreed, “Oh, he is. He gets so much bad press, but he’s the sweetest person I know...”

“I always thought he’d be rude, and scary, and horrible, but he’s not...he has a sense of humour, one of his favourite bands is a _girl band_ , he likes reading and he eats apples and he talks about his best friends like they’re the most important thing he has – he’s _brilliant_!”

“You don’t need to tell me that. I know it better than most. He’s my best friend, he’s helped me understand myself, I’d trust him with my life. We’ve played video games for three hours solid, watched girly movies and cried our eyes out together. I’ve told him my deepest darkest secrets and listened to his in return, I’ve – I’ve seen him stand completely naked in front of me with the Dark Mark on his arse and had him expose himself to me in every way he knows how. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world who knows how brilliant he is more than me.”

“No, but Louis – if people knew about this, if your _mother_ knew about this –”

“She’d feel exactly the same as she does now, if not worse. Liam, you know she’d go crazy about this even if she _did_ know what Harry was really like, just because of his views, his sexuality, how he lives his life...it’d make no difference whatsoever.” Louis stared down into the dregs of his coffee, melancholy seeping into his previously jubilant mood.

“Maybe, but not everyone would. Your father might not mind so much, and your sisters...”

“My father might as well be a clone for all the independent thought he has, all the ideas he’s had for himself that he actually dares to say out loud since he married her. He parrots every word that comes out of my mother’s mouth, you know that. And my sisters wouldn’t dare speak out, except maybe Fizzy, and even if they did, what could they do? It’s no good. My mother would never accept this, and she’d never allow my family to accept this either. Harry’s one of the most important part of my life, and if I want to keep him, some day I’m going to have to cut myself off from the rest of it. I accepted that a while back – trust me, once you have too, you’ll stop worrying so much about what other people think of him. I have, he has...it’s better that way. Right now, I’m going to let this go as far as it can, until it runs both of us into the ground, and just hope that I’m strong enough to pick myself up again once we’ve crashed.”

Harry slid back into his seat, placing a tray with three fresh cups of coffee on the table. Instantly, Louis sat up and plastered on a smile, not wanting Harry to know just how much it hurt him that his family couldn’t accept the boy with the outlined eyes in the same way that any decent person with their judgement unclouded by prejudice would, and Harry returned his smile with one of his own, running his hand down Louis’ arm.

“Formulating a plan to get away from me?” he teased lightly.

“Actually, we were discussing whether chains or handcuffs would be a more effective method of making sure you never leave my side,” Louis countered.

“Ooh, kinky. Didn’t think you’d be into that,” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Liam.

Laughing, Liam raised his own eyebrows as he reached for his mug. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Pleased by his reaction, and the fact that Liam had easily joined in with the flirting just as readily as Niall and Zayn would have, Harry beamed at Louis and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek – at the last moment, he realized that they were in public and, blushing, he shifted the gesture into one more appropriate for company, into one that a pair of very close, touchy-feely friends could be allowed to get away with; he put his arm around Louis and rested his head on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis couldn’t help himself – he turned his head and whispered into Harry’s hair, “I love you.”

The little smile on Harry’s face grew, brilliant and blazing as if someone had jammed a lightbulb into his mouth and his teeth were all fairy-lights, lighting up his entire face, and Louis was once again reminded that he never wanted Harry to stop looking like that for the rest of their lives.

 

~*~

 

Liam had a Media Studies exam that he needed to revise for – a subject which Louis didn’t take – so he made his excuses and left not long after, leaving Harry and Louis to find some much-needed time to themselves. Rather than going all the way back across town to Harry’s house, though, they were happy to wander around town, standing very closely together and talking softly, exchanging words that were inaudible to any curious ears that happened to be eavesdropping. Not that anybody dared to do so. As they made their way through the streets, Louis began to notice something that he’d never really been aware of before, since Harry didn’t make a habit of visiting the busier parts of town before – now, in the midst of the more populated areas near to the town centre, it was painfully obvious.

Nobody wanted to be anywhere near them.

Mothers with children pulled their sons and daughters closer and crossed the street to avoid Harry. Groups of giggling teenage girls looked wary and bunched tighter together as he approached. Behind them, Louis could have sworn he heard catcalls and insults being yelled after them, unmistakeably malicious in tone although they were too far away to make out. He followed Harry’s example and didn’t turn around, but the back of his neck prickled and he couldn’t help feeling like a cornered animal, as if they might pounce from behind and throw him to the ground at any second. Harry held his head high, kept walking and ignored it all, but there was an unmistakeable tightness to his jaw.

In response, Louis walked a little closer to him, so that their sides pressed together, trying to communicate to Harry that despite other people’s instant dislike, their instant _fear_ of him, he was still there. He was still by his side. People started shooting distrustful looks at Louis just because he had the audacity to stand next to this misfit; they looked at them and then looked away as if being a punk could just rub off on you like a disease, like they were both tainted and they could spread it if you looked at them for too long. He didn’t care for himself, but for Harry, he _hurt._ Because only now, after all this time, after examining Harry’s valiant _don’t-care_ facade, the front he put up for himself, after trying to emulate it and becoming so intimately familiar with it, did he know that it really _was_ just a front. Harry _did_ care. He cared so much that it made Louis ache with the urge to comfort him. But when he opened his mouth to try and say something, Harry just gave him a look that quelled whatever he had been about to say; Harry didn’t want his pity. It wasn’t going to make anything better, if anything it would just punch another hole in his armour, and in public he was going to struggle to patch it up.

They called it a day eventually – Harry was starting to look a little bit miserable, twitching every time a shout came down the street regardless of whether it was directed at their backs or not, and Louis didn’t want to push his luck with his mother – she could well decide to enforce an unexpected curfew at the last minute that she wouldn’t tell him about but would still punish him for breaking. When they reached some of the quieter roads towards Louis’ house, they dared to hold hands, checking over their shoulders every few minutes or so, and Harry visibly relaxed.

As they headed towards Louis’ house, mentally preparing to separate, they stopped beside a lamp-post and Harry was slowly starting to lean in for the first of a whole host of goodnight kisses (they could never stop at one; it was always intended to be a fleeting peck that became at least five, none of them quick except for the last as they tore apart and Louis started jogging down the road to get away from him before his self-control failed him once again). They looked at each other in silence for a while, Louis feigning shyness because even though any inhibitions about kissing Harry had long since faded, Harry had admitted to secretly finding his initial timidity quite cute – but just as Harry’s mouth was coming into close proximity with Louis’, hovering a few inches away as he deliberately lingered to prolong the moment, Louis’ phone chose that moment to go off, making him jump.

He shrugged apologetically, veering away from Harry’s lips; if it was his mother, delaying several minutes to answer it would _not_ be a good way to win her favour; it would only encourage her to start interrogating him, and if he and Harry started kissing then it really _would_ be several minutes. He fished his phone out of his pocket to find, to his surprise, a text from Liam.

**U home yet?**

It had taken him aback so much that he tapped out a response without thinking.

_No, why?_

Liam’s response came back uncharacteristically quickly; Liam’s messages were usually typed out with painstaking slowness and riddled with spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, which perhaps attributed to Louis’ unease as he read the next text.

**Watch urself.**

Frowning, Louis looked at Harry as if the dark-haired boy could offer up some form of explanation for an ominous text that he hadn’t even read – but before he could show it to him, question Liam or even open his mouth, a piercing shriek rent the night, making them both flinch.

“ _Louis William Tomlinson_!”

“Fuck,” Louis hissed, and he turned around and gave Harry a panicky shove. “Oh, heavens above, now we’re in trouble. Quick, before she sees you! Go on, get out of here –”

Jay appeared out of the darkness, running towards them, her hair dishevelled, wearing an apron with navy and white stripes, her face flushed. She looked absolutely livid, far more so than when she’d started screeching at Louis over his lip piercing: she looked ready to commit murder. Lurching out of the darkness, she grabbed Louis by the arm and gave him an enormous tug, making him stagger as she hauled him away from Harry by pure force.

“Get away from that boy! What on _earth_ do you think you’re doing, associating with hooligans and blasphemers and _gay people_? What will the neighbours think? What will your father say? What will _our_ father say?” she demanded, gesturing at the sky to indicate God. “I’m ashamed of you, Louis, associating with these sinners! I told you to stay away from those horrible punk boys!”

“I can explain –” Louis began desperately, although his mind was blank. He tried to struggle away from her, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Oh, I bet you can. Lying is a sin too, you know! Come inside, Louis, and if I hear one word of protest from you –”

“Whoa, hey, get your hands off him,” Harry said angrily, taking Louis’ other arm and gently tugging Louis towards him.

Appalled, Jay glared at him. “Don’t even talk to me! You’re a vile, evil boy and I won’t have you anywhere near my son! Don’t you talk to me, don’t _you_ touch him! Don’t you come near my family!” She gave Louis such a vicious haul towards her that he yelled in pain, and something flashed in Harry’s eyes that made Louis’ stomach fold in on itself with worry. In that moment, Harry looked like he might hit the shouting woman in the face – and worst of all, Louis wasn’t entirely sure that he was inclined to stop him.

“ _I’m_ vile? Have you any idea how ridiculous that sounds, coming from you? You oppress your children; you talk down to everyone who’s a little different from you; you won’t even _listen_ to other people’s opinion! You make your own son ashamed to be who he is!”

“If who he was wasn’t shameful, then he would have no reason to be ashamed,” she retorted, “now get away from my son and my family and don’t come near us again, or I’ll call the police!”

“ _Mum_ ,” Louis said, and he couldn’t help himself – he started _crying._ Not because she was hurting him, even though she was, or because she was going to separate him and Harry, although that would have almost been enough – it was the look on Harry’s face, that disgusted, horrified look at the fact that she clearly completely believed in the horrible prejudice she was spouting. The fact that two people he loved clearly hated each other on sight, and even though he knew without a shadow of doubt that Harry was the one in the right, he still didn’t like to see him giving Jay the filthiest look he’d ever seen Harry give anyone in his life.

“Don’t be so pathetic, Louis,” she snarled, “come _inside_.”

“What are you going to call the police for? On what grounds are they going to arrest me?” demanded Harry. “Despite the way you act, there’s no crime in a couple of piercings or listening to metal music, or having some tattoos. There’s no crime in my sexuality, either.”

“No, but there is a crime for causing a disturbance, for assault, and heaps of other things besides which I’m sure any of the local _churchgoing_ police force would _love_ to have you arrested for – so take my advice and _get. Out._ ”

There was a long pause, where Harry looked at her as if she was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen in his life, his hand still resting on Louis’ arm despite Jay’s desperate efforts to drag him away; every time she gave him another pull, Harry merely stepped forwards, meaning that she couldn’t separate them without physically removing Harry’s hand, which she clearly didn’t quite dare to do. She glowered at him, and he stared back, one eyebrow raised, lip curled with revulsion – and more tears dribbled down Louis’ face, because despite what he’d said to Liam a small, desperately hopeful part of him had still hoped that there could be some kind of peaceful resolution to this, that if he could just get Harry and his mother to meet on civil terms then maybe they wouldn’t loathe each other on sight. Now that this frail hope was shattered, he couldn’t hold back his distress at how openly they hated each other.

Harry took a deep breath, then he looked at Louis. “Do you want me to go?” he asked quietly.

Louis closed his eyes, feeling several tears leak through his eyelashes, and he pressed his lips tightly together and nodded.

He heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath. He felt those long fingers drop from his arm. He heard the sound of Harry’s footsteps as he turned and walked away from them, slowly fading until he couldn’t hear the slightest sound – but he couldn’t bear to open his eyes and watch, because while they were still safely closed he could perhaps fool himself that Harry hadn’t really left.

Of course, his mother quickly shattered that illusion. “Come inside!” she snapped, yanking him backwards so that his eyes flew open in shock and he could clearly see that apart from the two of them, and a curious cat (probably one of Louis’) underneath a parked car with gleaming eyes, the street was empty.

He stopped struggling, then; allowed her to pull him inside, and he dropped exhaustedly into his usual seat at the kitchen table, all the fight going out of him. Once again, he closed his eyes, wondering if he could just fall asleep right there and then, and not wake up, because his dreams, at least, she couldn’t separate him from.

She dealt him a stinging slap to the back of the head, and Louis yelped and sat up immediately, his head throbbing. He wanted to glare at her, but he didn’t dare; he dropped his gaze back to the table and stayed quiet.

“I thought I’d made it clear that you weren’t to go anywhere near that boy or his horrible friends! You’ve lied to me, Louis. That’s clearly stated as a sin, even if you seem to think there are some grey areas. You’re grounded for the next _month_ , no early release this time – and I’ve half a mind to stop you seeing Liam as well, since he clearly can’t be trusted any more than you can.”

Too exhausted to argue, Louis watched her begin pacing up and down in silence, but in his head was a relentless chorus of _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._ This he was certain of now; he loved her, of course – she was his mother, despite how much he might wish  the contrary – but _oh_ , he hated her. His hatred burned, cooking him from the inside out with the effort of keeping it in. He was too tired to fight her, but at the same time he could have screamed at her for hours for the things she had done and the way she had treated Harry, the way she had separated the two of them. Hate was an emotion Louis was unfamiliar with; it filled his mouth with a sour, poisonous taste and sped his heart with a desire to act on it. But he stayed unmoving, silent, determined not to stoop to her level. Thus far, he and Harry were in the right – he didn’t want to change that.

“I was in town,” she said. “Walking through the square – and I saw you and Liam sat in the coffee shop, talking. I thought it was _sweet._ I stopped to watch, to see the difference in you, how much less _surly_ you seemed around him than you have been these past few weeks. I thought he’d done you good. But then _do you know who walked over to your table_?” Her breathing sped, cheeks flaring bright pink like someone had splattered poster paints across her face. “I saw that _awful_ boy, and he came and sat down at your table, and he _touched_ you. He put his _arm_ around you, and you let that vile boy _hug_ you, like – like you were _friends._ That was when I realized that as far as you were concerned, friends is exactly what you were.” Slamming her hands down on the table, she leaned across it, right in Louis’ face. “That boy is not your friend, Louis. He wants to lead you astray; to poison your mind and fill you with nasty ideas and get you into all sorts of trouble. He’s Hell-bound and no mistake, and he wants to drag you downstairs with him.”

Without comment, Louis dully watched her, almost amused by the sheer ridiculousness of what she was saying. His anger washed away the faint tinge of humour almost instantly, and he struggled to stay blank-faced and empty so that she wouldn’t see the rebellion in his face. Any display of independent thinking now, the slightest display that he was going to ignore her sermon, would only make things worse for him.

“Give me your phone.” She held out her hand.

He handed it over without complaint. He’d deleted every text to and from Harry; there would be no incriminating evidence on there. Likewise, every shady text from Liam had also been deleted. He didn’t trust his mother not to have gone through his phone long before this, and had no intention of leaving anything for her to find.

“I’ve disconnected the Wifi from your laptop, and if you reconnect it then you’re in trouble. I don’t want you talking to anyone. You’re not to make phone calls, or write letters, or anything like that. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I didn’t want to have to treat you like a baby, Louis, but you’re on house arrest effective immediately – I’ll walk you to and from school every day to make sure you aren’t seeing this boy anywhere.”

Louis looked up, unable to contain himself any longer. “That’s ridiculous, and you know it is. How long exactly are you going to cut off all contact with the outside world and treat me like a four year old?”

“Like I said. A month at first. He’ll soon get bored once he realizes he can’t corrupt you anymore; a month will be all it takes for him to get fed up. We’ll see how you behave then. But Louis, if I see you anywhere near that boy again, regardless of who initiated the contact, I _will_ be calling the police.” She left the room, already trying to make his phone work so she could read his texts.

Louis groaned and buried his face in his arms, his shoulders already shaking. _A month?_ He knew Harry wouldn’t give up on him, there was no way that would happen – but he wasn’t sure whether his own sanity would survive a month with no extra-curricular contact with anyone other than his family. He was shaking all over at the prospect, filled with anger. How could she treat him like that, without even letting either of them?

Still, he’d made his decision now. If he was going to anger her, he might as well do it properly, might as well be well and truly disowned. He didn’t want to be a part of her dysfunctional family any longer. He no longer cared what they thought of him and how much of a disgrace he apparently was to them – in fact, it was now his aim to become as big a disgrace as possible. He’d bide his time, take his punishment and act as if it were a test to see if he and Harry could last through this degree of separation – and then as soon as he was free, he’d walk straight back into Harry’s arms.

The thought made him smile, if a little grimly.

Like Harry before him, all those years ago when he’d got his first cobweb tattoos, he’d just cut the strings.


	14. Chapter 14

Freedom was sweet, and Louis fully intended to take advantage of it.

He had a pretty good idea of where Harry would be, the places where he tended to go, and so he wandered the streets, systematically checking them all for a peripheral flash of curly hair or a metal-studded face. It took him a good half hour before he decided to check the area around the shop where he’d had his lip pierced, and it came as a shock when he finally found what he’d been looking for after he’d long since given in and was patiently walking around without really expecting to _find_ anything.

Harry was sitting on the wall looking moodily down at his phone when Louis rounded the corner, and he had to do a double take to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Harry had changed again. He had his septum pierced, and when Louis looked at him a little harder, he could see a distinct tinge of deep purple on the underside of the tufty, loose curls that fell across Harry’s forehead.

Licking his lips, Louis approached, and when he’d reached Harry, he sat down on the wall beside him. He was close enough that he could feel the warmth of Harry’s body pouring off him, but not touch him; close enough to see the anger simmering beneath the surface, but not close enough to have any of it expended on him. Harry thrummed with energy, and none of it seemed good. They stayed silent for a few moments, staring down at the ground, and Louis wasn’t entirely sure what to say. In the end, Harry broached the silence for him.

“Careful,” he said savagely. “Don’t touch me, or you’ll descend straight into the fiery pits of hell...or is that why you’re here? To save me from my sins? Baptise me and cleanse me of all evil and pack me off to Sunday school?”

Louis closed his eyes and tilted his head back a little. He’d expected a vicious response, but that did hit a little close to home. “That was harsh, and you know it.”

There was a little pause, and then Harry exhaled heavily. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I suppose it was.”

Morosely picking at a loose fibre on his sweater, Louis sneaked a glance at Harry and found that Harry was looking from underneath his newly purple hair at him, too. They both smiled in spite of themselves and Louis couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“When did they let you out?” asked Harry quietly.

“This morning. I was gonna call you, but they wiped your number off my phone when they confiscated it. Sorry.”

“Doesn’t it have a password?”

Louis shook his head. His mother didn’t approve of him having passwords on things. _“We’ll have no secrets in this household, thank you very much.”_

Well, that had gone pretty much out of the window.

“You’ve changed,” he commented. “What’s with the hair?” He cautiously reached out, caught a strand of Harry’s hair between his fingers and lifted it up to examine the deep, metallic purple underneath.

Harry shrugged. “Felt like it.”

“And the...this?” Louis cautiously tapped the ring through Harry’s nose, painstakingly gentle since it was a fairly new piercing.

Another jerky shrug, but Harry’s eyes seemed a little less guarded and he appeared to have softened already. “I was angry.” When Louis looked confused, he elaborated, “When other people are angry, they yell at people or scream or throw things. When I’m angry, I get piercings. It gives me something else to think about. And if I’m angry enough, I’ll never take it out, so I’ll remember never to forgive them. If they deserve forgiving, then I take it out, the hole closes up, and that’s that. A new start.” His eyes flitted a little worriedly over Louis’ face.

“I missed you,” Louis said softly, and his fingers slid down Harry’s arm until his hand was folded over Harry’s hand.

“It’s been more than three weeks, you know. And I kept waiting. All the texts I sent, all the messages I left, they were all ignored, and your family shoot daggers at me when they see me in the street. I didn’t hear a word from you, and I thought you’d given up for good this time, and now you didn’t care about me. But I couldn’t give up on you. You’d think that after all this time I’d be sick of it, but I can’t make myself give up. By this time, you’d think your family would have worked out that they don’t have you wrapped around their little fingers any more, but I don’t think they’ve given up on that yet, either. Have they?”

Louis stayed silent, staring down at Harry’s long fingers were they rested on the wall, his own not even large enough to cover them. In the past he would have protested at that last statement and how manipulative it made his family sound, but he was only beginning to realize that really, manipulative was exactly the right word.

Harry blinked, and Louis was startled to see that all of a sudden his green eyes were wet and shining with barely restrained tears. “I missed you too,” he said thickly, and then he hurled himself forwards and collapsed into Louis’ arms, and Louis suddenly had the warm weight of Harry’s body pressed against him, and Harry’s face buried in his shoulder with his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Murmuring nonsense into Harry’s ear, Louis eased him off, pulled him back a little, and then when Harry was sitting back far enough for them to make eye contact, he carefully wiped one of Harry’s eyes, trying not to smudge his carefully applied eyeliner. A little smudge of black came off on his finger, but he honestly didn’t give a damn. Then, when Harry nervously leaned forward and tilted his head as if to kiss him, Louis didn’t throw anxious glances around or haul him into a bush so that they wouldn’t be seen – he closed the distance between them as quickly as he could, melting into the kiss, and then Harry’s hands on the base of his back were the only thing left keeping him from falling.

After all this time, the metallic taste of Harry’s kisses was still achingly familiar, and although he’d once found it a little bitter and hard to cope with, it was amazing how much he’d missed the warmth of Harry’s mouth interspersed with the occasional icy clink of metal against his teeth. His stomach was fluttering with butterflies, because he’d decided that he just didn’t _care_ anymore about what his parents said, of all the stories they fed him. Because when they had refused to talk to him, locked him away in disgrace and walked him to school, for god’s sake, making sure to tell the headmistress to keep any weird-looking teenage boys well away from the gates, Louis had been alone, and Harry had waited. He almost _wanted_ to get caught. His stomach was churning, and Harry’s large hands rubbed up and down his back, and Louis’ sifted through his newly purple hair, and the world was just a jumble of silky curls and warm lips and the feeling of tumbling into a warm bed on a cold night, but Harry’s embrace was far more welcoming than his bed had ever been.

It made him feel a little giddy, the thought that any member of his family or a friend of his family’s could come around the corner right now, like he had only a minute or so ago, and catch him desperately kissing the most mutually disliked boy in the neighbourhood, with his hands running frantically through his hair. He could only imagine the kind of apoplectic fit his mother would have over that. The thought made him want to laugh, and Harry felt his lips twitch through the kiss and broke it, pulling a little away from him. He examined Louis critically, his own smile widening.

“What’s funny?” he asked, and then he nuzzled Louis’ neck, lightly kissing the spot where his neck and shoulders joined.

Since Louis didn’t think he could really explain what he was finding so amusing, he snorted with laughter over another thought that had stuck in his mind from the moment their eyes had met that morning. “You! You look like a bull,” he spluttered.

Harry joined him, laughing as well. “I know. I figured out almost as soon as it stopped aching that I hadn’t made the best choice. It’s kind of like...when I’m angry, I get it done, and when the pain fades, so does my anger...when my judgement started returning to me, I figured out that it looked a bit stupid...I think I’m going to take it out anyway. Here I was, getting a piercing and planning to keep it as a sign that I wasn’t going to forgive you, and there’s nothing to forgive... I’m going to let it heal over.” He reached for his nose.

Louis stopped him by catching his hand before it reached his face. He coughed self-consciously, then cleared his throat and said a little shyly “C-can I...can I do it?”

Surprised, Harry said, “Sure, if you want, but I thought you were kind of squeamish about things like that?”

A small smile crossed Louis’ face. “I did get my lip pierced, remember? It kind of changed my viewpoint on these things. Hold still...” Leaning over, he carefully unfastened the little metal ring and carefully slipped it out of Harry’s nose. Then he placed it into Harry’s open hand and folded the younger boy’s fingers closed around it.

Their eyes met, and Louis wondered how on earth his parents could possibly despise a boy with eyes like that. How anyone could dislike Harry at all.

He only realized he’d said some of that out loud when Harry gave a sad little smile of his own and touched Louis’ cheek with the tips of his fingers.

“ _You_ used to, you know. I remember the first time I ever spoke to you. You looked absolutely appalled...I thought you were going to call the police.” He laughed quietly. “Your family are the same...it’s only the kind of reaction I expect from people these days.”

“Only because they don’t know you.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sick of it all,” Louis said all of a sudden, and Harry’s eyes flickered over his face in surprise. “I’m tired of them. Tired of hiding all of this. I want to tell them that this is who I am now and I’m not ashamed of it. If my family don’t like it, that’s just tough. I’m sick of having their opinions planted in my mouth.”

A hand found its way to the small of his back, comfortingly rubbing his spine. “How much do they know about you and me?”

“As far as they’re concerned, we’re close friends, and they don’t like that at all. I want to change that, and they won’t take it well, but I won’t hide this any longer.”

Harry whistled quietly. “Wow. They kept you locked in the house for almost three weeks to keep you away from a friend they don’t approve of? They must _really_ not like me.” Then he tried to smile, but it turned out very wobbly and he looked extremely hurt.

Biting down on his lip, Louis grabbed him by the wrist and squeezed it very hard. “Oh, Harry...”

“Hey, I interrupted you. I’m sorry. This isn’t about me. What were you saying about your family?” Harry was entirely focused on him now, all of the sadness having vanished from his eyes, and he appeared to have completely forgotten the world around them. He held Louis’ wrists and gazed intently at him, and Louis felt a little bit helpless with Harry looking at him in that way.

“I want to come out,” Louis said. “I’m sick of trying to be the son they want me to be, because I’ll never be like that. I’ve never been quite right, and I’ve always tried to be the perfect kid they’ve always wanted, but it’s never been quite right, for me or for them, and I love them, but I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t even want to. And they won’t accept it, I know, but that’s not my problem, it’s theirs. Harry...” he gazed beseechingly at him. “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” came the immediate answer, “anything. What do you need?”

“I want to get a tattoo.”

Harry breathed in sharply. “ _Oh._ ” He glanced down and rubbed his wrist, bracelets sliding further down his arm, showing the first few words of his tattoo of the Shakespeare quote. With the cobwebs on his elbows and the various other tattoos on his body, it was easy to understand why Louis would have sought him out with help in that area, but he didn’t much like the idea of seeing a tattooist come anywhere near Louis’ smooth, lightly tanned skin. “Louis...are you sure that’s a good idea? Tattoos aren’t like piercings; you can’t get rid of them if you don’t like them, they aren’t holes that’ll close up in a few weeks. Either you’re stuck with them forever, or you face the death laser. Are you really sure you want one?”

“Yes. I thought about a lot of things during the past couple of weeks, and this...is definitely what I want. The tattoo will show them that they can’t control me any longer, because they can’t make me get rid of a tattoo – and I think I’m going to need a reminder over the next couple of weeks that I need to start being true to who _I_ am, not who they want me to be...I have to do this, Harry, and you’ve done it enough times that I thought maybe you’d know where I can get one that won’t get infected or anything. Please?”

Resisting those pleading blue eyes would always be a difficult task, and with the yearning in Louis’ gaze, it was even harder than usual. Shaking his head, Harry felt his lips frame Louis’ name as he kissed him on the corner of his mouth, his lips wandering further and further forwards until they were kissing properly. One of Harry’s hands found the back of Louis’ hair and started burying itself in the thick warmth of it, stroking all the way to the roots. Louis sighed; it was a clever diversionary tactic, but not clever enough.

When Harry paused for breath, he tried again. “ _Please_ ,” Louis breathed against Harry’s lower lip.

“Oh, Lou...”

“Please...”

“Louis...”

“ _Please_?”

 

~*~

 

“One hundred percent sure?”

“Yeah,” Louis said grimly. “Positive.”

Harry’s tattoo artist had a surprisingly small amount of tattoos for someone of his profession (although Harry had assured Louis in a whisper, with a grin plastered across his face, that he had plenty of tattoos in _other_ places than his remarkably inkless arms) but Louis found that made him a little less nervous about the guy. He had shaggy hair and a pleasant smile, and Louis couldn’t help but like him.

Having been seated in a comfortable leather chair, given a glass of water and talked through the whole ‘so-you-know-this-is-permanent-don’t-you?’ discussion, and his churning stomach had stopped a while back because of the jokey banter Harry and the tattooist (Mark) had going on, so that now he was reclining back in the chair with his left arm stretched out, and his right hand rested on Harry’s knee along with Harry’s hand, loosely holding it. Still, he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, averting his eyes from the needle because it made him feel a little bit nauseous just thinking about it. Mark was preparing the area on his wrist where he had asked for the tattoo. Sweat was beading on Louis’ forehead; he couldn’t help thinking about what might happen if he threw up and lurched forwards halfway through the procedure and knocked the needle askew.

Seeming to recognize his nervousness, Harry leaned forward as Mark did, and as the tattooist raised the needle to begin inking the first line on Louis’ skin, Harry murmured into Louis’ ear, “I still can’t believe you’re getting Selena Gomez lyrics tattooed on you. Remind me how it is your parents still don’t know you like guys?”

Louis gave a semi-hysterical snort of laughter, his whole body twitching, and Mark raised his head and threw the curly-haired boy a dark look. “Harry...” he warned.

“Sorry,” said Harry contritely, dipping his head. Then he smiled sympathetically at Louis. “Don’t think about what’s happening too much,” he advised. “If it hurts, squeeze my hand, and don’t be shy about it, because I’ve held Niall and Zayn’s hands heaps of times; my hand is used to a bit of abuse. Go for it.” He leaned forwards and breathed “be brave, because this is the easy part.”

“What’s the hard part?” Louis couldn’t help but ask as the needle lightly touched his skin; the question distracted him from the inevitable shudder provoked by the cold sensation.

Harry grinned. “Telling your parents.”

Louis gave a little moan of acknowledgement and then he closed his eyes as the needle started whirring and Mark began inking the words _I won’t apologise for who I am_ onto the back of his left wrist, where it would stay conceivably for the rest of his life.

Harry watched in fascination as the tattoo took shape; he always liked watching other people’s being done, although he had to look away while Mark was working on doing them on him. As he watched the elegant black script being carefully etched into Louis’ skin, he barely felt the pain of Louis’ fingernails digging fiercely into his hand; he was too distracted with the fact that with his eyes squeezed tightly shut in pain, sweat dotting his forehead and the odd low whimper that ripped through his teeth, he looked both vulnerable and gorgeous, and it made some kind of strange protective urge stir in the pit of his stomach.

He gave into it shamelessly, kissing Louis on the forehead, stroking his hand, murmuring to him and occasionally glancing at the lettering as it was carefully blocked into place. He was impressed, really; when he’d got his first tattoo, he’d been a right state, crying his eyes out, sobbing like a baby while it was applied – perhaps because he’d gone on his own and hadn’t had a hand to hold while it was done. But Louis was being quiet, reserved, struggling to keep it together.

Every now and then those blue eyes would open, clouded with pain, and meet Harry’s for a few moments, blink back tears, and then close because he couldn’t bear to open his eyes without looking, and he didn’t dare look in case he freaked out and ripped his hands away. But every short glance came accompanied by a slightly tighter squeeze of Harry’s hand, and that was how Harry knew that his presence was being appreciated. It made his stomach squeeze fondly, and he almost wondered whether he should get another tattoo himself, so Louis could experience the feeling of being a hand to hold, of being there. It was incredible, Harry thought, having someone else cling to you for comfort, being the one they wanted as a diversion from the pain. But maybe two tattoos in one day would be a little too much for Louis.

Personally, after his own first tattoos, he hadn’t been able to get away from the tattoo parlour fast enough. The smell of disinfectant and Mark’s deodorant and the smell that he always associated with tattoos and ink and the discomfort of having needles inking your skin had turned his stomach; after having them bandaged up and accepting the sterilizing creams he needed to make sure they healed properly, he’d staggered straight out of there and stumbled over to the drains and thrown up into the gutter. Then he’d gone out and got wasted because he thought it was a stupid decision to have made and he was a total idiot, and god, what the hell had he got permanently inscribed on his skin?

The next day, nursing a hangover and feeling incredibly sorry for himself, he’d peeled back the bandages and taken a peek and realized with a jolt that actually, he did quite like them after all. Especially because of his own personal meaning that they stood for.

The needle was sat down, the tattoo blown dry and bandaged up, and all the while Louis sat looking weak, wobbly and a little bit stunned. Harry wanted to fuss over him, to ask if he was okay and offer him a cup of tea and worry and cluck like a mother hen, but he didn’t think Louis would take too kindly to that, so he focused on trying to look appropriately supportive while Mark lectured Louis on proper tattoo care and how to make it heal up properly and so on.

Eventually, with a friendly nod, the man vanished into the back of his shop, giving them some privacy, and Louis stared blankly after him like he couldn’t quite believe it was over. Harry dropped to his knees beside him, still holding his good hand with fingers that had been gripped with such bruising tightness for so long that he still couldn’t feel them. Pushing Louis’ sweaty hair off his forehead, he tried to evaluate Louis’ expression with little success. Recently, Louis had gotten far better at hiding his emotions – although Harry thought that he might just be too zoned out to have any feelings at the moment.

“Hey, baby,” Harry murmured. “I’m here, it’s alright. Are you with me?”

“Room’s spinning,” Louis said blearily, looking around with unfocused eyes. “S’weird.”

“You don’t have a phobia of needles, do you? Honestly, what am I going to do with you? I’ll catch you if you pass out, but I want you to know that getting a tattoo when you’re scared of needles is a really stupid idea –”

“No, I don’t. M’fine. Just need to get out of here. Fresh air, and all that. Help me up.” He began struggling to his feet, and Harry held his good arm and gently pulled him into a standing position, all the while fussing and clucking over him like a mother hen.

You would have thought Louis was an invalid judging by the way Harry helped him out of the shop, trying to take all of his weight as if Louis couldn’t walk by himself, even trying to persuade him to put an arm around Harry’s shoulders for support. While he was still dizzy, Louis put up with it, but once he’d regained a little bit of clarity and the world was no longer whirling around him like he was the only stationary thing in existence stuck in the middle of an enormous carousel, he started squirming and fidgeting, complaining excessively. Harry obstinately hung onto him for a few streets, but then Louis’ whining reached a pitch so irritating that he couldn’t stand it any longer, and he released him, allowing Louis to stand unsupported. He backed away a little to evaluate whether he looked fit to be standing without help.

Louis was flushed delicate pink, the colour of candyfloss, pink roses and strawberry lipgloss. His hair was sweaty and sticking messily up at the back from where he’d been pushing his head back against the seat during the tattooing. His eyes looked wider than usual, the pupils blown out into huge dark holes inside the rings of pale blue. As Harry watched, a smile started to spread across his face, becoming a grin that was almost manic. Something had changed in Louis during the tattooing; something in him had broken, or maybe something had come together. He looked _more._ More of what, Harry wasn’t sure – but he was definitely more _._

In silence, Harry reached out and ran a hand down Louis’ bare, un-bandaged arm, his mouth slightly open with awe. When Louis’ smirk alerted him to what he was doing, his mouth abruptly snapped shut and he looked at the ground, blushing. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, embarrassed.

Smiling, Louis reached for his hand and intertwined his small, slender fingers with Harry’s long ones. Embarrassment fading, Harry looked up and gave him a small smile in return, and after a few long seconds he started to disentangle their fingers. Louis, however, had other ideas; he determinedly held on. His grip wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it was too firm to be shaken off easily, and Harry’s gaze was filled with confusion as he looked at Louis, then started looking around purely out of habit.

Louis caught his chin, wincing as the movement stretched his sore wrist. Instantly, Harry froze, not wanting to hurt him any further, and Louis let go of his face, but kept their fingers interlocked. Harry’s forehead furrowed with confusion.

“No more,” Louis said softly. “No more hiding. I mean that. Why should we? You’re proud of who you are, I’m tired of being ashamed of who _I_ am – when I said I was done with it, that was what I meant. I love you, and I’m proud of you, proud of _us._ ”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. You wanna know how sure I am? I’ve been flat-hunting – and job-hunting, Liam’s been helping me, there wasn’t much I could do from my room. I’m moving out. If I can come and sleep on your floor for a couple of days while I get myself set up, I should be out of your hair in a week, when I’ve got my own place. I think I had an epiphany while he was scrawling all over me with that needle, Harry.” He didn’t think Louis had ever looked so excited. “I know what I want to do, and all of it involves leaving my mother and her stupidity as far behind me as I can.” He kissed Harry on the forehead. “This is where it all changes – no more playing around, no more half-assing it to see how she’ll take a bit of rebellion.”

“Louis...I don’t think you understand. It’s not just your family who are going to object to this, you know that, right? As if associating with me and being seen with me wasn’t enough to get you a one-way trip to the town’s Most Unwanted list, openly being my boyfriend is going to be a whole lot worse. You’ve heard the kind of things they shout after me, behind my back as I walk down the street. The way they look at me, how they cross the road to keep away from me. I know you don’t dress like I do or listen to the music I listen to, or make it quite so obvious that you’re different from other people and proud of it, but if you walk down the street holding my hand, they’re still going to chant all the same stuff. Have you ever looked in someone’s eyes and had them say the word ‘faggot’, had them spit it at you like you’re vile and disgusting, and then run away from you? It’s one of the most horrible things in the world.”

“No, I can’t say I have. But if that’s what it takes to be myself, then fine, bring it on. You won’t have to cope with it on your own any more, Harry. I am who I am. This is what _we_ are. I’m sick of hiding it.”

A long silence stretched between them, Harry’s hold on Louis’ hand tightening in response to his words – then the laughter he’d been restraining burst out, and he gave a little giggle that he smothered behind his hand.

“What?” Louis turned even pinker, apparently embarrassed by Harry’s amusement despite not knowing the cause.

Harry coughed to hide another little sound of amusement, and then said with raised eyebrows, “Really? Expressing your new views and perspective on life via _song lyrics_? Very original, Lou. That’s my favourite song, did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Pink became strawberry red, and Louis turned away from him.

Harry pulled him closer, kissed him on the nose, and said “Very cute, though.”

They started walking, hand in hand down the street. Louis was quiet, still red and a little shy, contemplative too with his teeth resting on his lower lip. Beside him, Harry was content just to walk, to hold his hand and occasionally shoot him a glance, allowing the blush to fade from Louis’ face while they walked. The thought that anyone he knew could walk down the street and see him now had Louis’ heart hammering painfully hard, like punches raining down onto his ribs from the inside, but at the same time he felt weirdly at ease. Simply holding hands with Harry and not fighting to hide the sidelong glances they kept casting each other, trying to disguise his desire and what they were from people and constantly panicking that he might not be succeeding, well, it was strangely comforting. As was the soft stroke of Harry’s thumb across his knuckles every time they passed someone on the street. 

They didn’t pass very many people, though. A couple of people stared, and for some strange reason, Louis liked that, liked knowing that people could see that Harry was his. He liked the idea that they might be jealous, and even if they weren’t, the simple fact that he and Harry were evidently together and people could see it was enough to bring a smile to his face. One little girl pointed and asked her parents a question in a high-pitched little voice, which they answered without seeming particularly perturbed: _“Mummy, Daddy, why are the boy with the funny clothes and the boy with the church necklace holding hands?” “Because they love each other, darling, just like we do.”_

Louis also thought he heard someone swearing in disgust, presumably directing the profanity at them, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He thought that Harry looked a little edgier than usual at the vicious reaction, knew that it was because he was afraid that it would upset Louis more than anything else, but Louis didn’t even flinch. Harry seemed impressed.

After they’d been walking for a few minutes, heading for Harry’s house, and Louis was starting to hope that Harry would have some paracetamol in his cupboards because his wrist was starting to burn a little, Harry looked at him and asked, “Lou, can I ask you a question?”

“What, another one? You’re full of them today,” Louis teased. When Harry looked confused, he shook his head fondly and said, “you just did? Go on, then, what’s on your mind?”

“Do you still believe in God?”

Although he was a little surprised that Harry would even ask the question, Louis said “Yeah, of course I do. Why?”

The taller boy shrugged, although he seemed satisfied with Louis’ answer, a pleased expression flitting across his face that might as well have been an out loud ‘good’. Silence fell once again, and after a minute or so Louis gave up on expecting an answer; they continued walking, and he’d almost forgotten that he had even asked a question when, several minutes later, Harry softly replied, “For a minute there, I was worried that maybe I changed you too much.”


	15. Chapter 15

That night, he slept at Harry’s, deciding that if he was going to reveal everything to his mother then he might as well make a point – he left his phone on for the first couple of hours, simply choosing to ignore it, then switched it off when the stream of calls and texts persisted. He hoped that by staying away, he would worry her, that perhaps her anxiety would soften her animosity towards him when he explained the whole situation with Harry. Not that he had any further ideas on how exactly he was going to do that – he didn’t think walking up to her and promptly announcing “I’m gay” would be the best course of action. Similarly, allowing her to catch him and Harry in the throes of passion on her sofa wouldn’t be the best way of introducing her to the idea that he wasn’t the ruler-straight son she’d always believed he was.

Weirdly, out of the two of them, it was Harry who seemed most reluctant to confront Louis’ family and explain what was going on. Louis had finally accepted that it wasn’t going to end well whichever way it went; either he’d lose his family through no fault of his own other than their ignorance, or he’d lose Harry for the exact same reason. Harry, however, still seemed to be battling with himself and with Louis to try and find a peaceful resolution, doggedly determined that there would be a way to talk Jay round. It was a sweet gesture, and Louis appreciated it, but he knew that for whatever reason, Harry was just prolonging the inevitable.

He was probably doing it just to try and protect Louis, but honestly, Louis was a little tired of being protected.

Still, as they stood hand in hand on his doorstep the next morning, he couldn’t help but have a nervous knot twisting in his stomach like a convoluted tree root, wrapping itself around his vital organs, crushing him from the inside out. Trying to soften the blow, Harry had offered to dress down, maybe wear a little less eyeliner, but Louis had obstinately fished out some of the most outrageous clothes he could find in Harry’s wardrobe – black leather jacket with little spikes on the shoulders, dripping with silver chains; black tank top; black skinny jeans; black boots, and as many bracelets as he could slide onto Harry’s wrists for him, where they overlapped each other and clinked gently every time he moved – he appreciated that his mother would probably be a little less furious if she saw Harry looking more ‘normal’, but he didn’t care about that. Normal wasn’t Harry, and he didn’t want his boyfriend to have to pretend to be something he wasn’t just to please his parents. That was what Louis had been doing for weeks, and he knew how it ate away at you like the mouths of a thousand hungry parasites, from the inside as well as out. And he was confident that it had been the best decision when, in his usual clothes, with his fierce punk exterior intact and therefore his confidence bolstered, Harry appeared completely composed, though he was poking at his lip ring with the tip of his tongue, a sure sign that he was nervous.

Somehow, this made Louis feel a lot calmer, knowing that Harry was by no means invulnerable, and knowing that this time he had someone to protect other than himself – he’d cowered from his mother when she’d shrieked at him and hurled abuse down upon him when he was scared and the only recipient of her anger was him, but he wouldn’t let her _touch_ Harry. He was so much stronger when he had someone to be strong _for._

He took a deep breath and then lifted his hand, fingers curled into a loose fist, to knock on the door, but before his knuckles could so much as graze the surface of the front door, Harry caught hold of his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

They exchanged glances, Harry’s worried and tense, Louis’ confident and certain. They’d gotten to the stage now where they could converse with mere looks, touches, soft little sounds in the back of their throats, sort of like their own secret language. They hadn’t ever agreed on it, exactly, but somehow it had crept up on them, this mutual understanding so strong that Louis could simply twitch the corner of his mouth into a smile, and give a tiny nod that Harry understood perfectly as a promise that Louis was sure about this, that he believed it was all going to work out fine.

Louis’ knock on the door was short and brisk, just like he was intending his approach to breaking the news to his mother to be. He gave two quick raps on the wood, then took a step backwards off the doorstep, back to Harry’s level. He took Harry’s hand and rubbed his thumb over the younger boy’s knuckles to reassure him.

Almost as if she’d been hovering within close range of the door, the silhouette of his mother abruptly appeared down the corridor and she began walking towards them, grumbling to herself so loudly and obnoxiously that Louis couldn’t help but think that he was supposed to hear her comments.

“Stays out all night then comes crawling back to me, expects me to welcome him back with open arms! Well, he’ll be grounded for another month, and no mistake, perhaps two; clearly the message hasn’t sunk in. Oh, he stays out as if to teach _me_ a lesson then comes crawling back in on his belly, well, I won’t have it. He’ll learn to do as he’s told, so he will, or mark my words he’ll wish he –” Mid-sentence, she wrenched open the door.

The second she realized that Louis wasn’t alone, her eyes narrowed to catlike slits – when she registered exactly who was standing by his side, their arms pressed together so closely that they might as well have been physically fused together, she made an angry sound and backed away from them, her lips curling into an unpleasant scowl. Then, she looked down, spotted where their hands were linked, and gave a cry of horror, staggering away from them. She seized her cross necklace as if it were a lifeline, wrapping her fingers around it, and started muttering to herself in wide-eyed terror. They only caught snatches of what she was agitatedly whispering under her breath, but by the sounds of it, she was praying – no surprise there, then.

The two of them waited patiently for her to finish. Once she was done, she lowered her clenched fist without uncurling her fingers from around the crucifix, and gave Harry a mistrustful look, a nasty stare full of suspicion and accusations.

“Don’t,” Louis said warningly.

She ignored him. “What on earth is going on here, Louis? Explain yourself!” She stabbed a finger towards where his and Harry’s fingers were linked. Instinctively, Louis gripped a little tighter, feeling bracelets brush against his skin, several of them clinking together. The sound comforted him somewhat.

For a moment, Louis wondered where to begin, then he gave up with a shrug. “I don’t think this really needs much explaining, do you?” He held up his and Harry’s joined hands for her inspection. “I’d have thought it was pretty clear what was going on here.”

As their hands dropped back to their sides, still safely linked, Jay gave Harry a malevolent stare which suggested she had several thoroughly nasty, non-Christian ideas for things she would have liked to do to him.

For the first time, Harry spoke, his lips parting with a soft popping sound that made Louis feel decidedly wobbly. “Could we please take this inside, Mrs. Tomlinson? I’m not sure this is the kind of conversation to have on the doorstep.”

Instantly, she made a move as if to close the door, making the gap between herself and the hallway smaller so that they would have had to push past her in order to get in. “No. If you’ll have this conversation with me, then clearly you’re not at all ashamed of yourselves – so you won’t care who overhears, will you?”

Louis sighed. “Have it your way, then.” In response to Harry’s slightly uncertain expression, he ran his thumb over Harry’s knuckles again and whispered, “love, it’s okay. Really. I meant what I said – I don’t care who knows about us. They’ll all know soon enough, why not now? Besides, we both know who’s going to be painted in a bad light by the end of this conversation – it’s not us.” Then he turned to his mother. “I can tell you’re bursting with things to say – well, before you do, hear us out. Hear _me_ out. I still love God. I still believe in everything I’ve always believed in. I still care about you, Dad, and the kids, of course I do. The only thing that’s changed is that I’m not going to pretend to be something else any more, that’s only going to make all of us miserable. I’m sorry I can’t be your perfect, textbook, conforms-to-social-norms son anymore. But that isn’t who I am, it isn’t who I’ve ever been. I’m _this_.” He tilted his head to the right to indicate Harry, standing silently beside him, expression blank but squeezing Louis’ hand so tightly with pride that it hurt. “I’ll always be this. I love you, I love Dad, I love Daisy and Lottie and Fizzy and Phoebe. I love God, and Jesus.” He took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out and said, “but I love Harry, too.”

“No you don’t.”

Louis hadn’t really been sure _what_ to expect from her. He’d anticipated some form of denial, but for her to come out with just one short, enigmatic sentence, without even being angry with him, threw him a little off guard. He wasn’t sure how to act.

“Um – don’t what?” Was she about to accuse him of not loving his family, or God, or what?

“You don’t love him. You think you do. He’s _made_ you think you do.” She stepped forwards, ignoring Harry like he wasn’t even there; Louis twitched away from her, expecting a slap, but she didn’t even touch him. “Oh, Louis. I did try to warn you. Can’t you see what’s going on? You’ve let him talk you into this – this _unnatural_ practice. You don’t know what love is like – how could you? You’re only a child. He’s coerced you into this because you’ve mistaken this nasty friendship he’s initiated between you for love. I told you before, he wants to lead you astray. He’s got you wrapped right around his little finger. He wants to make you deny God and fall into the throes of whatever satanic practices he and his vile friends spend their time doing –”

“Actually, I don’t,” Harry said curtly. “I’m not a Satanist, and neither are my friends. I believe in God too, and perhaps I did start this, but Louis didn’t object. I haven’t forced him into anything. And there’s nothing unnatural about this. If it were so unnatural, then there’d be no way of us being able to _do_ anything. I’m sure you know what I mean, and it’s fully possible, before you object.”

Glowering at him as if he were a pile of manure which had grown a mouth and started trying to reason with her about her views on sexuality, Jay spat, “Don’t you even go there! If you touch my son sexually, I’ll call the police, and this time I mean it! Sex is for procreation, which the two of you clearly would be incapable of – unless you’d like to try and tell me that you can impregnate him somehow,” she sneered. “It’s not _natural_. It isn’t God’s will. Don’t you _dare_ touch him, if I get any inkling that you’ve been anywhere near him with those kinds of intentions, then I’ll have you locked up for sexual assault!”

Harry snorted. “I think it’s a bit late for that,” he muttered under his breath.

Her eyebrows raised so much that they almost disappeared into her hair. “I hope for both of your sakes that you’re joking – though it’s not like you can have sex _properly_.”

“I can assure you, ‘improper’ sex is a more than adequate substitute.” Harry was unable to keep the flaming grin off his face.

She gave him a disgusted look, then pointedly reminded Louis, “The Lord told us to be fruitful and multiply – how exactly do you propose to do that? You may have the equipment for a... poor substitute of sorts, but you can’t have children, and even you can’t manage to wriggle your way out of this one, can you, Houdini? You can’t deny that neither of you can give birth. Neither of you have the right...” Gesturing vaguely, she said limply, “parts.”

“I don’t _want_ to be fruitful and multiply! At least not now. Mum, I’m still in college, Harry’s still in _school_ , procreation is the last thing on either of our minds. Come on, you can’t expect me to be able to make a decision like that at the age I am now?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. You do realize that doing this will impact how people see you in this town for the rest of your life? Do you _want_ to gain notoriety for being the boy who’s gay and going out with – with _him_?” She glared at Harry, who didn’t even try to hide his annoyance at being referred to with so much disgust. “Things like that stick, you know. People don’t forget. In thirty years’ time, walking down some innocuous little street, you’ll still be given funny looks and made fun of, because you’ll still be that boy who mistakenly went out with the local freak when he was seventeen, because he thought he was mature enough to make the stupidest decision of his life.”

“In thirty years’ time, walking down that street, if people _are_ still slandering me because of that ‘freak’, I won’t care a bit, because I’ll still be holding hands with him.”

Harry’s frown softened, and he threw an adoring look in Louis’ direction.

Clearly becoming a little desperate, Jay abruptly changed tactics with so little subtlety that it was almost amusing. “Louis, you said you still love God – would he want you to be this way? Do you think he would like to see you turning your back on your family, disrespecting your parents, lying with a man as one should lie with a woman?”

“If this was so repulsive to him, then why would he have given me the option? Why would he have made me so that I was attracted to a man? Wouldn’t he have intervened and stopped me, or made it physically impossible for us to do anything together sexually? He gave me a chance to decide if I wanted this. If he thought it was so wrong, wouldn’t he have stopped me?”

“It’s called free will. You’re given the opportunity to choose a specific course of action, but just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you _should._ It’s all about judgement at the end of the day. The Lord trusts you to do the right thing, and gives you the freedom to make the choice for yourself. Whether you choose to obey is up to you.”

“Free will!” Louis said bitterly, with a humourless laugh. “Well, that’s rich. What would I know about free will? When have I _ever_ had free will? For as long as I can remember, you and Dad have been trying to mould me into the perfect son you think I should be, and you haven’t cared how much you bent me or broke me or tore me to pieces, just so long as I fitted into society’s safe little ‘normal’ box at the end of it. You’ve been oppressing me and putting me down all my life, and punishing me when I object to it, and you dare to lecture _me_ about free will?”

“Louis,” Harry warned.

Surprised and, Harry thought, a little hurt by the reprimand, Louis turned on him, and for a moment seemed about to take his hand away. “But I’m right, you know I’m right! Listen to what she’s saying, you _know_ it’s a load of rubbish!”

“I know that, baby, of course I know that, but yelling isn’t going to help the situation, yeah? Shouting your opinions at stupid people doesn’t make them understand or agree with you, no matter how right you are. In fact, if anything it just makes them worse. You’re living proof of that. You remember our conversations, don’t you? Remember in the shop, when I had a go at you and threw you out, and we were both angry and unreasonable and it ended about as badly as it possibly could? Just think. Out of all the times I tried to bring you round, when were you more inclined to listen – when I was yelling in your face, or when I was actually speaking calmly to you like a reasonable person?”

They exchanged long looks, Harry’s expression patient whilst Louis’ was filled with frustration. Still, the mossy green colour of Harry’s irises was a strangely soothing colour, and after a few long moments of staring into them and taking deep breaths, Louis felt a lot less like screaming and a lot more like kissing him and never stopping. Still, with his mother still stood with her arms folded and a disapproving glare fixed on her face, he had a feeling that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea. Instead, Louis stood on his toes to be a little closer to Harry’s height, then gave him a sheepish smile, as if to say _what would I do without you?_ Harry’s fond answering grin seemed to say something along the lines of _crash and burn_ , and they both laughed softly at how well they understood each other without saying a single word. Then they turned back to Jay.

“I’ve never been able to do what I want, Mum. I’m eighteen now, I have to start making my own way in life. The thing is, I haven’t changed. Inside, I’ve always been...something other than you wanted me to be. Do you want to know a secret? I hate football. You drove me to practice for years and years, and you wouldn’t listen when I said I hated it, so eventually I stopped telling you. I never wanted to take piano classes; the day you finally let me quit was one of the best days of my life. I don’t support the Doncaster Rovers, and all those games Dad took me to drove me out of my wits with boredom. It’s all little stuff, but I never dared to say anything about it. And now this is a big thing, and you’re still pulling the ‘honour thy mother and father’ card to try and make me do what you want me to. Well I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

“Alright,” Jay said in a slightly wavering tone. “Maybe sometimes I made you do a few things you didn’t like. Maybe I didn’t always listen when you told me you didn’t enjoy something. But everything I did, I did for your own good – because you’re my son, and I love you, and I did what I thought was best because I _wanted_ the best for you.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t blame you for that. But what I blame you for is the fact that you’re _still_ doing it, even though it’s clear that it’s not what I want. You’re still trying to force the issue, still trying to sweep all my rebellion under the rug. Just stop. Please. I can forgive you for all of the other stuff – that’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Forgive and forget. Love everyone. So I’ll forgive you for all the times you’ve made me miserable in the past, if you’ll look past your prejudice and forgive me for something that shouldn’t even really need forgiving. I’m in love with Harry, Mum. Please don’t make me choose between you.”

“It’s just a phase,” Jay said obstinately.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Louis, I _know_ you. This boy has turned your head. You never batted an eyelid at another man before you got tangled up in his life and he convinced you that you’re gay, you’re just _confused_ , you don’t know what love is like or how you’re supposed to feel –”

“I think I know that a lot better than you do. Besides, maybe I never looked at another man before Harry – but do you ever remember me taking an interest in a girl either? Can you ever think of a time where I pinned attractive girls up on my walls, or stared at them down the street, or lusted after them, _ever_? I guess you mistook it for decency and being considerate enough not to gawp – well, honestly, I just wasn’t interested. I’m not gay, Mum. I don’t fall in love with the gender – I fall in love with the person. I’m pansexual.”

He and Harry had spent hours and hours talking the night before, because Louis had been struck by a sudden desire to understand himself, to know exactly who he was and what he wanted. He’d been pretty sure anyway. Harry had offered up a seemingly endless list of classifications for sexual orientations of every kind, and their corresponding definitions, until eventually ‘pansexual’ had cropped up, and the meaning struck a chord somewhere within Louis. Sure, Harry was gorgeous, but Louis had a feeling that even if he’d been a short, greasy-haired, spotty teenager with a monotonous voice, just listening to the words he spun into magic with that voice would have been enough to send him head over heels just as easily.

Likewise, if Harry had been a girl, with pink and green hair cropped short and a nose ring and bright lipstick, wearing short-shorts and torn leggings and constantly chewing bubblegum, if she’d had the same opinions and mannerisms and beautiful personality that Harry had, he’d be standing on this doorstep holding hands with her instead.

Unfortunately, he had a feeling that his mother would have taken that so much better.

“You can use as many fancy terms as you like, but you’re still practicing homosexuality, and I won’t have it!”

In spite of himself, Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh, honestly – ‘practicing homosexuality’! It’s like being persecuted for practicing witchcraft all over again. What are you going to do – drown me? Tie me up and throw me into a pool, and if I sink, it was all a mistake and I’m not actually in love with a man?”

“I’m tired of you and your smart mouth! Will you come inside and tell that boy to go away, and stop setting such a heinous example to your sisters? They look up to you to see how they should behave, and what do they see? This rudeness, the rebellion, this mindless disobedience, it’s got to stop, Louis! This isn’t you, not really. It’s just a phase. Leave that boy and all of this horrible negativity outside, we can put it all behind us. Come back home,” she pleaded.

Taking a deep breath, Louis dropped Harry’s hand and alighted the step, standing level with her so that he could stand over her ever so slightly. “So what you’re saying is...this is my ultimatum.”

“I suppose so. In a manner of speaking.”

“This is it. Not going back. You’re going to make me choose.”

Growing in confidence, Jay agreed, “I am.”

“You or him.”

“That’s right,” she said triumphantly.

“My boyfriend or my family.”

Apparently, Jay had already decided that she was the victor of this sickening choice that she was forcing her son to make; her only response was a smug little nod. Back on the lower step, Harry said nothing, but he was anxiously nibbling his lip ring. He looked extremely small, staring down at the floor with a defeated expression, because apparently he believed he’d interpreted Louis’ decision too, and apparently in his mind he wasn’t the one winning Louis’ favour. A solitary purple-tinted curl spiralled across his forehead, an unruly splash of deep violet against stark, snowy white skin. His green-eyed gaze was trained on the ground as if he didn’t dare to look up, making him look a lot like a little boy hanging his head in disgrace.

It was one of those rare times when Louis actually felt like he was the elder of the two. One of the few occasions when he’d ever felt like perhaps he ought to be the one looking after Harry rather than the other way around.

Stepping back onto the ground, away from his mother, he put his arm around Harry. Not even around his shoulders, but around his waist, to show that he meant business. “In that case, you’ve made my decision for me. Because I know that whoever loves me most wouldn’t _make_ me choose. He’s right here.” He gestured at Harry. “I’m sorry. But this _is_ who I am. It’s not just a phase, I’m not a child anymore, no matter how much you might treat me like one. I’m your son, regardless, there’s nothing you can do about that. I’ve finally faced up to who I am – couldn’t you at least do the same?”

There was a long and heavy silence during which his mother stood staring at him, her chest heaving up and down, eyes wide. Neither Louis or Harry said anything else – in fact, Louis was feeling extremely drained, and would have drooped tiredly against Harry if he hadn’t been determined to remain strong for both of their sakes. He felt like they’d been exchanging physical blows rather than verbal ones, as if every one of her vicious, prejudiced comment had hit him with the force of a hammer blow. His abdomen ached, roiling with knots and tension and making him feel as if she’d kicked him in the stomach.

All of a sudden, Jay reached for the crucifix necklace hanging around Louis’ neck, identical to her own, and it rested on the tips of her fingers for a moment. Louis looked down at it, and then blinked as it vanished inside her closed fist.

“You are _not_ my son,” she said viciously.

She gave a sharp yank on the necklace; Louis felt the chain straining against the back of his neck, and then the delicate silver links snapped with a clink, slithering down his chest like tiny metal snakes. He stared at them in shock, where the broken chains dangled pathetically from between her closed fingers, swinging a little and looking incredibly pitiful. He gave a little cry as she pulled it free, taking it away from him. Instinctively, he reached for the spot where the little cross had rested on his chest; he’d been wearing that necklace every day of his life since he received it as a confirmation present at twelve years old, and with it taken away, it felt like she might as well have ripped one of his arms off.

Jay held up her closed fist, the delicate chains of his broken necklace trailing down her wrist in glowing silver lines, then she opened her hand and showed him the small cross that had been hanging around his neck since the day she’d given it to him. They both stared at the shape of it where it nestled on her palm, looking as fragile and breakable as Louis felt right now, with his breaths coming shallowly and his head spinning like an out-of-control carousel.

“And you aren’t one of God’s children any more, either.”

Then she stepped back from him so quickly that you would have thought she was trying to avoid some nasty disease, and slammed the door in his face.

For two heartbeats, Louis stood still, in utter shock. He couldn’t believe what had just happened; blinked a couple of times as if it were a hallucination that could be dispelled with a few flutters of his eyelids, then when it didn’t disappear he closed his eyes and counted slowly down from ten. His arm had dropped from around Harry’s waist, but Harry’s hand was on the base of his spine, supporting him. Good thing, too – he was trembling so hard that he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to stand without help.

Eyes filling with tears, as wet as the ocean that the colour of them resembled, he turned to Harry. “Is that it?” he asked shakily. “Out on my ear, just like that? Just because I wouldn’t do what she wanted me to anymore, I don’t deserve to be a part of her life? Or my sisters’ lives?”

“Oh, Lou. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realize – I thought she’d come around, I didn’t think anyone could really be so prejudiced that they’d – oh, baby, it’s okay, come on!” Harry pulled Louis into a hug, and Louis buried his nose in Harry’s shoulder and started sobbing, all of his strength crumbling into dust.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Louis cried. “All my stuff’s in that house, everything I own – all my money, and my clothes, and I don’t have anywhere to stay or anything to wear or any way of paying for any more stuff, because I don’t know my bank details, I don’t even have possession of my own bloody _bank account_ for crying out loud, I just, I don’t –”

“Shh, come on. Don’t talk like that. You think I’d leave you out on the street when all of this is my fault? I told you, you can stay round at mine whenever, I’ve already explained to Mum what happened last time, she’s fine with it. I’m so sorry, Louis, really I am, but please, don’t _ever_ think you’re alone in this, you hear? Promise me you won’t think that for a second.” He caught Louis’ chin and lifted it, looking right into his teary eyes, and said fiercely, “Don’t let people like her stand in your way. You’re beautiful. You’re brilliant. It’s hard, and it sucks, but fuck them. Fuck all of them sideways with a spiny cactus. I love you so much. You’ve still got me. I know I’m not worth much, but for what I _am_ worth, I’m still here. It’s still you and me, okay? Against everything.”

Louis didn’t answer him, he just grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and cried all over his shoulder until he was astonished he could still keep producing tears, and through it all Harry whispered condolences, rubbed his back and glowered darkly up at the house owned by the family that had thrown Louis out for no reason other than their own narrow-minded perception as if the sheer force of his filthy look could set the whole building ablaze.

He really, _really_ wished it could.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm rimming, a bit of dirty talk...basically this is just an ode to how much I love their tongues.

Louis was starting to frighten Harry, in all honesty. After about ten minutes of him standing there crying, an upstairs window had opened, and a large plastic bin-sack had been launched out, as well as a suitcase, which had burst open upon hitting the ground. The window had then slammed shut. When they went to investigate, they discovered that all of Louis’ clothes, his laptop, school books, ipod and most of his music collection had been packed up and thrown out of the window at them. The message was clear: they didn’t want to give him any reason to come back.

Harry had expected Louis to cry even harder at that, but all of a sudden he’d gone deathly silent. Picking his belongings up off the ground without even checking whether they’d been broken or not (mercifully, by the looks of it most of them seemed to be intact, but Harry still wasn’t sure whether they’d all still work when he tried to switch them on), turned his back on the house and started walking. He was pale and he trembled all over, but he seemed completely in control of whatever rampant emotions were running around in his head. In silent agreement, they began heading towards Harry’s house, and Harry kept his arm protectively around Louis all the way there, glaring at anyone who dared to look at them for any longer than a quick glance. The last thing Louis needed was to be ogled by judgemental strangers just then.

All the time they walked, Louis never said a word. He stared straight ahead, glassy-eyed and silent, lips pressed tightly together until they turned milky white, and Harry didn’t quite know what to make of it. Something told him that it wasn’t healthy to let Louis keep everything bottled up like this, but he was making such a valiant effort that it seemed unfair to disrupt him. Clearly this facade of collectedness was the only thing he had to focus on, the only thing keeping him walking in a straight line and not curling up on the ground and bursting into tears. Harry didn’t have the heart to take it from him.

They both tensed as they walked up the driveway to Harry’s house; neither of them particularly wanted to face his mother right then, it would provoke far too many questions and requirements for interaction when they needed to be alone. Harry tried the door, and they both sighed in relief when it was locked and he had to get his keys out to let them in. The two of them stepped over the threshold, Harry locked them in, and then he looked back at Louis, who had his back to him and was staring dully at the floor. He seemed to have gone into shock. Nervously, Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, and after a few seconds of an eerie lack of reaction, Louis slowly lifted his head and then turned round to look into his eyes. There was something empty and vacant about his expression that made Harry’s stomach churn.

“Well,” Louis said. “That’s the end of that, then.” Then he burst into tears.

Sickeningly, Harry felt a strange sense of relief as the pain returned to Louis’ eyes and he started sobbing, perhaps because he was equipped to deal with a crying Louis, but a shallow husk of Louis with emotions so deeply buried underneath the surface that he looked like an empty wax doll, devoid of emotion and with Louis’ face painted onto its surface? That unnerved him.

Harry hurried forwards and grabbed him, and they hugged. Louis buried his face in the taller boy’s neck and started howling, and after that came a deluge of tears like a tsunami pouring down Harry’s neck and into his shirt, making him shiver; they weren’t hot, scalding tears like they had been before, these were cold, as if all of the energy and the fight had drained out of him and his insides were as frozen and icy as his mother’s heart.

Throughout all of it, Harry rubbed his back and tried to console him, while Louis cried all over him again and didn’t seem to be able to stop; he did attempt it a couple of times, but every time he started taking deep breaths, he’d choke or hiccup and start all over again, with even more fervour than before. For about twenty minutes, Harry allowed him to let it all out, until Louis was practically hysterical and seemed to be struggling to breathe quickly enough between sobs, but then he realized that rather than letting him get his emotions out, he was actually just working himself up into a bigger and bigger state, which was counter-productive to calming him down.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said firmly, taking two handfuls of the back of Louis’ navy and white checked shirt and pulling the material, not hard enough to force Louis to pull away from him, but hard enough to indicate that that was the intention.

Louis lifted his head, took a shallow, gasping breath, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, something he’d been doing repeatedly every time he tried to stop crying for the last quarter of an hour. “W-what?” His voice was quiet and hoarse, like a mouse with a sore throat.

“This isn’t helping. Come on.” Harry grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the kitchen, then sat him down at the kitchen  table and headed over to the kettle. He filled it, switched it on, and started rifling through the cupboards while Louis watched him, red-eyed but curious.

“Okay. So this is a shitty situation, it absolutely sucks, and I’d really hoped it wouldn’t end like this, but like you said, that’s that. We can’t change it. And I can’t imagine how it feels to have your family disown you over this, but I do know how it feels to become the outcast overnight, to have everyone suddenly start hating you just because you finally admit that you aren’t like they are, and you don’t want to pretend to be. I used to have a lot more friends than I do now, you know. I was one of ‘the popular ones’.” His mouth twitched with amusement. “Then one morning I came to school with eyeliner and angel bites, and they all started singing that I was a faggot and only Zayn and Niall would still talk to me, and I punched the lot of them in the face until they left me alone. So yeah, maybe you can’t compare losing your ‘friends’ – some friends, to turn on me like that! – to having your family throw you out, but the situations are similar enough for me to understand at least some of what you’re going through. And believe me, I’ve done the whole locking myself away and crying thing. It sucks, and it only makes you feel worse. Don’t think you can backtrack and try to patch things up again, either, because forget walking all over you; if you let them win _this_ battle, they’ll keep stamping all over you until the day they die, maybe even after that if their influence doesn’t wear off. The real satisfaction is getting up the next morning, saying ‘fuck them; they beat me, but they didn’t break me’ and then going out there in just the same way and being proud of who you are. It frightens them, then. If they think they can’t win, they’ll stop trying. Even if it takes a while.”

For a moment or so, he and Louis made eye contact across the room, Harry smiled nostalgically with his eyes misty and faraway, lost in memories of his victory, and Louis managed a brave, if slightly wobbly smile in return.

Then the kettle boiled, and Harry’s little speech was forgotten as he turned around and started pouring out the water and clinking spoons against the side of the mugs as he dealt out sugar and stirred the tea around. Satisfied, he placed a steaming mug on the table in front of Louis then slid into the chair opposite him.

“Get that down you. You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve got a hot cup of tea inside you. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about."

Louis began appreciatively sipping, slowly at first, then taking larger gulps. They sat in silence, drinking tea and watching each other, and by the time the entire mug had vanished down Louis’ throat, his breathing had steadied and he was far calmer. Smiling encouragingly at him, Harry took his mug away and put it in the sink, then he linked their fingers together and started to pull Louis to his feet.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs.”

They entered Harry’s room, and the soothing black and white tones were an almost instant calming agent, as well as the wave of comforting memories that washed over Louis the second he entered it. Harry’s room felt so much more like home and somewhere he could relax than his own had for weeks now. Releasing his hand, Harry gestured for him to head to the centre of the room, then when Louis turned back to face him, he walked forwards and started adjusting Louis’ collar.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said seriously. “I don’t think I’ve told you before. I certainly haven’t told you enough.”

Under normal circumstances, Louis would have snorted uncomfortably and played the compliment off as a big joke, but his emotions were all over the place, and his eyes were all of a sudden brimming with tears.

Clearing his throat, Harry slid his hands down from Louis’ collar and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt. Confused, Louis blinked at him, but he didn’t object. As he undid the first three buttons, Harry stayed silent, but as he was starting on the fourth, he said “In my experience, there are two things which make everything better, no  matter how awful you’re feeling at the time.”

His fingers were nimble as he made short work of the buttons, unbuttoning the shirt with ease. Louis felt a little embarrassed; Harry had seen his dick before, but he hadn’t yet seen him without a shirt on, and Louis was rather shy of the slight swell of his tummy that had been developing ever since he’d come back from Bible camp and stopped exercising for hours every day with a group of other extremely competitive lads. Unfastening the last button with a flourish, Harry slid his hands up Louis’ stomach, roaming across smooth golden skin; his tan, at least, hadn’t faded – then his fingers slid underneath the shirt, resting on Louis shoulders.

As he pushed it away and slid the shirt off, where it landed in a pool of material on the floor, he told Louis, “the first is tea.”

Next, he dropped to his knees, starting at Louis’ feet and unlacing his shoes. Once they had been obediently kicked off, he threw them out of the way, leaving them in a messy heap by the door along with his own, then his hands ran up Louis’ legs, all the way to his hips, slowly sliding inwards as he made his way towards the zipper of Louis’ jeans. It gave a low, buzzing rasp as he pulled it down, and then the button popped softly as he undid that too, freeing Louis’ stomach from where the waistband had been slightly tight across his tummy; he’d had to squeeze into his jeans that morning. Pulling the jeans down around Louis’ ankles, he waited for him to step out of them, then straightened up and pulled him closer, hands on his waist, tips of their noses pressed together, mouths centimetres apart as he lingered achingly close, prolonging the moment of anticipation before the kiss.

“The second is sex,” he continued, then he gave Louis an affectionate but fleeting kiss on the mouth. “Would you mind lying down on the bed over there?”

“Uh...Please don’t take this the wrong way, babe, but _now_? Really? It’s been a shitty day and I’m tired and I feel awful, I just want to curl up and go to sleep. I don’t think this is the right time. I want it to be special, you know? I don’t want our first time to always have underlying memories of me looking all tearstained and snotty, I don’t want our first time to be the day my mother kicked me out for falling in love with you. But most of all? I really don’t think this is the right time for me to be shoving my fingers up your arse.”

Harry rolled his eyes, unable to keep a silly grin off his face. “Ever the romantic, Lou. Don’t worry, nobody’s shoving any finger’s up _anybody’s_ arse. You’re right about one thing; this _isn’t_ the right time for you to lose your virginity. It _is_ however an excellent time for me to teach you one or two things and make you feel good, so, if you don’t mind – the bed, if you please?” He indicated his bed with raised eyebrows.

Well, who was Louis to argue with that? He lay down on the bed on his stomach, and Harry crouched on the bed beside him and gently tugged his boxers down, past his thighs, down around his ankles and then off, dropping them on the floor. However, he made no move to remove any of his own clothing. Louis decided that was a turn-on; he found something strangely attractive about the spiky jackets that he’d once likened to a porcupine dipped in silver.

Harry ran his hands down Louis’ thighs, making him shiver and his breath hitch. He pressed a few kisses to the back of his legs, starting around his calves then moving slowly up, lips ghosting over the sensitive place at the back of his knees, up his thighs, paying close attention to the crease where his thigh ended and his arse began. Louis was fighting to stay in control, but his whole body was trembling and every so often he’d give a little jerk, fighting the impulse to push himself more closely against Harry’s mouth.

Sucking a bruise into the back of Louis’ thigh, Harry deliberately made sure to press the right side of his mouth very insistently against the warm skin, chilling him with his lip-ring. Louis liked that, breathing more heavily and arching into the touch, and Harry hummed in satisfaction, pleased by his reaction. Then he bit gently, teeth scraping on sensitive skin, and Louis made a little noise, hips involuntarily shifting forwards against the bed-sheets. The friction made him moan softly, and Harry poked him in the ribs.

“Oi. That’s naughty. I told you, I’m gonna make you feel good, but you have to be a good boy, okay? Don’t move.”

Louis whined in response, and he wriggled, trying to shake the tremors off, surreptitiously pushing against the bed, although Harry allowed him to do that and didn’t comment on it. Once his body had stopped shaking so violently, Louis took a deep breath and nodded, and Harry went back to his wanderings. Obscene pink mouth sliding wetly over miles and miles of smooth skin, while Louis choked little noises into the pillow that sounded far too sweet to Harry’s ears to be profanities, although he knew all too well that Louis was swearing like a trooper into the blankets. Encouraging him, Harry momentarily allowed himself to wander upwards, exploring the smooth expanse of his back with long fingers, kissing the little dimples in his spine, massaging his shoulders. He wanted to kiss Louis’ neck, tug at his hair, flip him over and kiss the soft swell of his belly, a feature which he secretly harboured a ridiculous amount of affection for – but not now. This was about Louis’ pleasure, not his own. There would be plenty more opportunities to be selfish with him. Sighing regretfully against Louis’ shoulder blades, Harry slipped back down to the lower half of his body.

For a while, he simply looked, admiring the excellent curve of Louis’ arse, wondering whether he’d been skinny dipping or naked sunbathing in order to get such an even tan, or whether that was just his natural skin tone. Much to Louis’ displeasure, Harry didn’t allow himself to touch, however much he wanted to get a good handful – there would be time later, he promised himself. Plenty of time.

Still, he took pity eventually, on the way Louis was whining so pitifully as he fought to keep his body locked obediently still, on the way little shivers were running through him, on the way Harry judged that he must be achingly hard if the complaints his own dick was making were anything to go by. He allowed himself a small smile, then started kissing Louis’ arse, finally giving it the attention that it deserved. He worshipped it with his mouth, biting softly, sucking just a little bit too lightly to leave marks, and all the while leaving no inch unexplored by his wandering hands. Louis made pleased little noises, but his impatience still bubbled under the surface; clearly he didn’t trust Harry to simply get the job done. Maybe he didn’t know how good this was going to be – in fact, Harry had a slight suspicion that Louis didn’t even know what he was going to do. He’d obediently washed himself very thoroughly in all the areas which the blushing Harry had suggested, but Harry wasn’t sure that he knew exactly _why._

No matter. That would just make it even more fun when he got his tongue inside.

“Harry. Please.”

“All in good time,” Harry murmured, exhaling a puff of warm breath on Louis’ thighs that made Louis’ body jerk. _Ooh, so you like that, do you?_ “Gonna make you feel so good. You’re gonna love it, babe. Gonna come so hard for me, and I won’t even have to touch you. You’ll see. First time someone ever did this for me, I cried – came all over the bed in five minutes flat, that’s how good it is.”

“What are you going to do?” Louis asked warily, and then he groaned. “Oh...and whatever it is, could you please hurry up?”

Harry chuckled. “Patience,” he admonished gently. Then he relented and whispered to the curve of Louis’ arse, as if it were the only part of Louis’ body capable of keeping a precious secret, “I’m going to get my tongue up inside you and eat you out like a girl, and I’m gonna make you scream so loud that we both get an ASBO for noise pollution. But you have to be a good boy. You gonna be a good boy for me, Louis?”

Louis’ longing moan was enough of an answer. Smirking, Harry tapped a little tune onto his smooth arse, running his fingers down that glorious golden brown skin, barely allowing himself more than a feather-light touch, teasing them both. He had an intense urge to manhandle Louis, to grab him and bite him until he cried. In fact, he half wanted Louis to disobey him, so he could spank him – oh, the mental images that produced were almost enough to make Harry come on the spot. He just wanted to be rough more than anything; he and Louis had spent so long being careful with each other that all Harry really wanted was to be thrown up against a wall and fucked so hard he couldn’t walk at _all_ the next morning, let alone walk straight.

_Some other time_ , he told himself a little wistfully.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

Louis instantly did so, and Harry pushed lightly with his hands until Louis spread them wider. His heart was hammering. Pushing a few already sweaty curls off his forehead, Harry took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, then dipped to press his nose against the crack of Louis’ arse, breathing softly against the rim, enjoying the way Louis’ muscles fluttered, clenching and unclenching in response.

The first lick made Louis jump in shock, surprised at how it felt. It was light, tentative, testing the waters as Harry kitten-licked the very edge of his hole, a bit like a teaser trailer as to what was to come. (Louis would have smirked at the pun if he’d been a bit beyond the point of still having the presence of mind to be amused by innuendos.) Already he could tell that Harry had excellent control over his tongue, the delicate first lick hinting that this really was going to be every bit as good as Harry had promised.

Next Harry seemed to grow in confidence, licking a fat stripe against Louis’ skin that instantly provoked a groan, had him fighting to stay still against the sheets like he’d been told. His breathing came faster and faster; he couldn’t take it into his lungs fast enough. His heart was hammering an uneven but shockingly fast rhythm against the inside of his chest with what felt like enough force to break his ribcage wide open. And then Harry’s tongue swirled around the rim, light but expert pressure, and Louis could feel Harry grinning against his arse as the tip of his tongue dipped inside, and that, oh _that_ , that made Louis cry out and his fingers curled in the sheets as he grabbed them with both hands, biting down on the duvet to stifle a sob.

“Told you,” Harry whispered. “Told you it was good. You want more?”

“Oh, oh please, Harry, please –”

“More?”

“ _Please_!”

“Love the way you say my name, _Christ_ ,” Harry growled, “if your mother could hear you now. Begging for me, for my tongue, inside you, then let’s see her try to tell you it’s a fucking phase. Louder. Wanna hear you. So loud she could almost hear it, if she’d only open her ears.”

“ _Harry_!”

Harry kissed the base of his back, gave him a light nip on the very edge of the rim and then nudged his tongue back inside, clever probing licks that made Louis gasp and rut desperately against the sheets, too far gone to even try to hold back any more. Pulling his legs even further apart, Harry pressed his nose against velvet skin as he delved the tip of his tongue a little further in, nowhere near as far as he could go, hell-bent on teasing Louis until he was sure he couldn’t take it anymore. He made sure to keep his lip ring well out of the way, knowing what it did to Louis, how much it turned him on, knowing that the first spark of cool metal contact on skin would be enough to make him come on the spot, and he didn’t want that to happen just yet. He still wanted to hear Louis really, really _beg._

His licks lost a little of their finesse, becoming sloppy and wide, but if anything Louis seemed to like that even more, panting and pushing up against his tongue as it slowly spiralled inwards, circles tightening until he dipped past that first ring of muscle again, sliding in beautifully easy, Louis’ hole already slick with spit. He nuzzled the older boy with the tip of his nose, delicately stroking his thighs with his thumbs, and then blew softly against the warm skin. In response, Louis choked into the sheets, and Harry would have encouraged him to make louder noises into the open air where he could hear them if he hadn’t had his tongue inside and been a little bit preoccupied to talk.

Instead, he tried to coax more noises out of Louis by using his tongue in a different way, all the dirtiest tricks he’d picked up within his limited experience showing themselves, as well as a fair bit of his own initiative as to what he thought might feel good. Flicking his tongue inside, widening the hole with a single finger that slid in easily with the lubrication of his own saliva (a thought which went straight to his dick and made it twitch) as he probed at Louis’ prostate. Louis groaned helplessly and pushed back against his finger; Harry, knowing all too well from a rather embarrassing and sticky experience with his first boyfriend during their first attempt at sex about the potency of the prostate brush, hastily withdrew his finger but pushed his tongue a little deeper so that Louis barely had time to whimper at the loss before he was gasping at this more intense sensation, clenching slightly around Harry’s tongue.

“ _Ohhhhhhh_...”

“Mm...you like this, don’t you? I can tell. Maybe I should do it more often. Make a habit of it. I bet you’d like that – knowing that at any time, I could just bend you over and put my face between your legs and eat you out until you _cried_.” Harry gave a tantalizingly slow lick over Louis’ whole and felt that glorious lithe body jerk underneath him. “Feels good, yeah?”

“Good – so – so good,” Louis choked, “wanna – oh, your tongue – _oh_ – please, Harry please, I want – I want –”

“Tell me,” Harry encouraged, whispering against his hole. “Tell me how good it feels, how much you want it. I wanna hear it. Tell me what you want, what you _need._ I’ll give it to you, anything, you know I will.”

Fisting the sheets, Louis sobbed, “More, please, oh God, your tongue – inside me, please, oh God Harry come on, I need it, I can’t –”

Well, he was asking so nicely, how could Harry refuse? He thumbed away some of the tears sparkling on Louis’ cheeks, reaching around his front to brush them away, and then he pulled Louis’ thighs even further apart and pushed his tongue right in, as far as it would go, letting his lip-ring brush against the rim.

Louis _screamed_ then, writhing and begging and crying out, but Harry wanted to see how far he could take this with just his tongue. Reduced to a sweating, squirming mess beneath him, Louis writhed and panted like he was running a marathon and sprinting at full pelt down the track, cheeks painted bright red with a flush and clearly close to losing it completely, a beautiful mess of profanities pouring out of his mouth and filling the air around them, falling upon Harry’s ears like sparks and leaving them burning, and making him so hard that he could hardly think straight. His tongue, however, continued its reflexive movements as he buried it deeply inside Louis, wondering just how deep he could go. His whole mouth was pressed against the smooth curve of Louis’ arse, lip ring digging in and leaving a white mark on the flushed skin.

“Harry please, oh Harry please, there, right – _there_ , oh please, oh God, feels so good, please –” Louis started scrabbling at the sheets, trying to get a hand around his dick, but Harry caught his wrist and hummed an admonishment against his skin.

Withdrawing his tongue for a moment, he whispered, “Sweetheart, what did I say?”

“Please Harry, please, I need it so bad, so much, so close, Harry it _hurts_ ,” Louis sobbed, more tears falling, and Harry watched in fascination, wanted to taste the salt-water pouring from the corners of Louis’ eyes, tears that he had caused.

“You really need it that bad, huh?” he murmured, biting down lightly on one of Louis’ cheeks.

“Yeah, yes, oh God, please, yes, I need it I need it I need it so bad –”

Harry nuzzled him again with the tip of his nose, thoughtfully kissing his rim. “I wanted to see if you could come just from this,” he mused with what was almost disappointment. “I know I did when it was me...maybe you need a bit more.” He swirled his tongue and then pushed back inside, and Louis cried and pushed his hips frantically against the pillow.

“ _Harry_!”

Sighing, Harry started reaching forwards to wrap his long fingers around him, but then Louis surprised him by shaking his head.

“No,” he growled as if to himself, “I can do it, I can do it, come on, give me more, wanna come just from your tongue inside me. Feels so good –”

He pushed back against Harry’s face, and, pleased, Harry squeezed his arse in reward, thumbs lightly brushing against Louis’ skin, and then he buried his tongue so deeply inside that for a moment he had a sudden sense of what would in other circumstances been an amusing sense of panic that maybe it would get stuck and he wouldn’t be able to pull it out again.

Only apparently he could, because he pulled out and dragged his tongue one last tantalizing time over Louis’ rim, allowing it to dance lightly over his balls as well, and then Louis’ body locked up and he came with a sob of “ _FUCK_ , Harry!” as he released his load all over the bed, messy and unrestrained, hips bucking helplessly against the sheets as he rode it out.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Harry battled with his jeans for a few more seconds and pulled them down around his ankles along with his boxers, shucking off the suffocatingly tight material onto the ground and kicking them away, and with four short tugs on his cock he came too, groaning Louis’ name as he bent over his trembling body, attempting to kiss his shoulders but really just mouthing sloppily at his back as he finished, astonished at quite how fast he’d managed it. The noises Louis had been making had clearly been getting him even more wound up than he’d realized.

It took them both a few minutes to come down from their respective highs, Harry coming back to himself far more quickly than Louis did. While he was a little bit shell-shocked, he did at least manage to sit up and brush his sweaty hair out of his eyes before he glanced over at where Louis lay on his stomach, face pressed against the pillow, still breathing in shallow pants.

Lying down beside him on his back, Harry turned his head to look at him. “You okay?” he asked.

His voice was hoarse and cracked, making him cringe, but Louis didn’t seem to mind as he reached across to drape an arm around Harry, across his shoulders as he slid his fingers into curly hair, safely anchoring them in the deep brown tangle.

“Better than okay.” Louis’ voice was different too, scratchy and raw, but Harry liked it; it made a shiver run down his spine. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against Louis’ shoulder and made a contented sound.

“Even though...”

Harry didn’t continue; he didn’t want to sour this moment by mentioning Louis’ mother and her vile reaction, but as he had known would happen, Louis knew what he meant anyway. Stirring slightly, he tightened his grip on the boy beneath him, then slid his hand out of Harry’s hair and began slowly tracing the shape of the feathers tattooed on his back with a touch so light that he might as well have pulled a feather off Harry’s back to touch him with.

“Yeah,” Louis said softly. “Even though.”

 

~*~

 

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

They were sat together in Harry’s bed, still undressed. Louis was snuggled into Harry’s side, head resting on his bare shoulder, tracing the lines of his rose tattoo with his fingertips, touching so lightly that Harry could barely feel it, while Harry’s cheek was pressed against the top of Louis’ head, feathery hair tickling his face. The fingers of their right hands were interlocked, Harry’s free hand resting on Louis’ thigh while Louis’ continued to explore the stark lines of his tattoo.

Lifting his head, Harry gave him a questioning look. “Get tired of what?” After a moment, he teased, “rimming? Not for as long as you keep making those pretty little noises for me, sweetheart.”

Louis gave him a reproachful little nudge. “Not _that_.” He couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face, however hard he tried to look disapproving.

“What, then?”

For a while, Louis seemed lost for words, fiddling with the duvet cover as his hand left Harry’s arm and found the coverlet instead. After a pause, he said, “Taking care of me. I mean – I’m the oldest. You’re still in school, you have exams and important stuff to do, and you have friends and a life and better things to do than running round after me and trying to patch up my family issues for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so, _so_ grateful, but I still don’t fully understand why you do it. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“No,” Harry said simply. He didn’t even have to think about it first. “I like taking care of you. We all need taking care of sometimes. Anyway, you take care of me in your own way – by giving me someone to look after. That helps me far more than fussing around me and wrapping me in cotton wool ever could. It gives me a reason not to go back to bed in the morning and lie around thinking about how I daren’t venture outside the front door without dressing this way, but when I do I’ll only be openly despised by everyone who sees me. It gives me something to be brave for when sometimes, my pride is the only other think keeping me going. It’s a far healthier reason than pride to keep holding my head high.” He kissed the top of Louis’ head. “I love you. Why would I ever get fed up of looking after you?”

For a while, Louis thought about that, while Harry smiled up at the ceiling, lost in contemplation.

“Yeah, but sometimes I feel like I should return the favour, you know?

“You don’t owe me anything, Lou, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But I just wanna take care of you...”

As he spoke, Louis leaned towards him, so that their position became less of a cuddle and more of an embrace, his fingers trailing across Harry’s stomach, and he raised his eyebrows suggestively. It would have been far more sensual if Louis hadn’t put a pair of boxers back on, but then again, maybe that was a good thing; maybe things would have already gone even further if he hadn’t. Harry’s breathing sped a little at the contact, the tingling sensation that Louis’ wandering fingers brought.

“When you, uh...when you say ‘take care of me’, do you mean ‘take care of me’ or ‘take _care_ of me’?” he asked breathlessly.

Amused, Louis raised his eyebrows, and the speed of his fingers slowed dramatically to a sensual drag of fingertips across Harry’s chest. “How do you like the sound of both? ‘Tis better to give than to receive, after all.” Lightly slapping Harry’s thigh, he said “Lift your legs up, there’s a good boy.” Then he defiantly raised his eyebrows even further, like he half wanted Harry to disagree with him.

Shivering, Harry wriggled obediently lifted his legs. He was almost beginning to wonder whether maybe he’d said some of that stuff about wanting Louis to be rough with him out loud – whispered against his skin how much he wanted to be manhandled, groaned into his hair that he wished Louis would slam him up against a wall and fuck him so hard that he begged. If he’d muttered against Louis’ sweaty hair just how much he wanted him, and in precisely which ways. He almost felt ashamed, but for the fact that if he’d said out loud half of what he wished Louis would do to him, as long as he got it he would have happily broadcasted it through a megaphone wired up to an enormous radio transmitter to send tales of his sexual desires all the way across the country. Any ordeal would be worth the things he wished Louis would do to him.

Louis breathed out softly against his skin, a cool puff of air causing goosebumps to rise on Harry’s pale thighs; the younger boy wriggled with delight, fingers curling in the sheets. He remembered the first time this had been done to him, how uncertain he’d been. It had all been in the name of foreplay, but he’d always known his boyfriend had a wicked tongue, and that wickedness apparently was not reserved for biting sarcasm and dealing out barbed witticisms to people and then sweeping away before they realized they’d been insulted. His tongue had been long and clever and very good at finding all the right places, and it had been only a little over a minute before, embarrassingly, Harry came all over the bed and was then in no shape for doing anything other than rolling over and falling asleep. Nick had been a little bit put out about the whole thing.

Thankfully, Harry had been working on his stamina since then, but he hadn’t, however, had anyone rim him since then, seeing as Nick had found the whole ordeal both irritating and amusing and burst into fits of laughter every time he tried to do it again. He was keen to see whether Louis had a similarly talented tongue.

Apparently, Louis was eager to prove that he had; his tongue swiped over Harry’s hole in a long, sensual drag, and Harry instantly choked and fisted the blankets, stunned. This was unreal, just one lick and already he was coming undone, arousal sparking in his belly, hard enough to cut diamonds. He could feel Louis smiling against the skin of his arse as he bit down gently on the Dark Mark tattooed on the pale flesh, and Harry pushed up against the pressure of his mouth, eyes closed, biting his lower lip. Louis’ hands roamed across his skin, curious to see what Harry liked, and when his fingertips brushed the crease of Harry’s arse, Harry made a soft little whining sound and Louis decided he liked that a hell of a lot.

He kept his licks light and fast, teasing Harry mercilessly and watching him groan and rut against the bed, pleading for more, but Louis didn’t want to give it to him just yet. It was strangely enjoyable, watching Harry squirm, so he pulled his legs apart with both hands and flicked his tongue over the rim, listening to all of the pleading little noises Harry make, loving the way that for once, he was the one in control of this. Harry was shaking and pleading and moaning filthy encouragements against the sheets, and on a sheer whim he grabbed two handfuls of Harry’s hair and yanked roughly, knowing that this probably didn’t fit the definition of taking care of him but being past caring, especially when Harry _sobbed_ out loud. Apparently, he liked having his hair pulled. It was useful information.

“Louder,” Louis said against his skin. “Come on, I know you can be louder than that. I want to hear every single scream, like I screamed for you. You’re not holding anything back. Tell me what you need. Tell me as loud as you can, or damnit, you’re not getting any of it.”

Harry choked. There were tears in his eyes, fuck, actual tears, and Louis would have felt horrible if it weren’t for the frantic thrusts into the sheets that came with every soft syllable that fell from Louis’ lips, showing him just how much Harry was getting off on this. Louis’ tongue lightly circled his hole and Harry groaned heatedly, biting down on the sheets then remembering and releasing them, moaning so loudly that Louis was almost surprised. Almost.

He pushed his tongue further inside, past the first ring of muscle, and then started humming, tongue vibrating lightly, and Harry yelped and his hips jerked and then he realized Louis wasn’t _just_ humming, wasn’t just making discordant noises with his soft voice; he was humming the tune of Immaculate Misconception. Harry’s favourite song. The song he rightfully considered to be _their_ song.

Harry started to laugh, but it turned into an embarrassingly needy whimper.

In silence, Louis reached for him, tugging at his hips, and understanding what he wanted without needing an explanation, Harry rolled over onto his back and put his legs back up, feet resting either side of Louis’ head, his own head propped up on his pillows so that he could watch Louis’ head between his legs. His mouth had fallen open and he seemed incapable of closing it. As Louis lowered his head again, kissing down the back of his thighs, Harry arched his back and let out a few more breathless moans, and Louis couldn’t help but smile at the response he was getting. From what Harry had told him, he’d had an inkling that this was one of his kinks, but he hadn’t realized just how much Harry loved this.

Louis’ tongue moved in tight little circles, each swipe of Harry’s hole making his whole body jerk and ripping embarrassing moans from his mouth that he couldn’t have held back even if he’d wanted to. His eyes were wet with tears of longing, and he was sobbing a constant chorus of “Oh please, oh Louis please, oh more, oh God right there, oh please, oh please Louis, oh, Louis _please_!” which Louis found exceedingly gratifying. He smirked against the smooth curve of Harry’s arse, kissed the Dark Mark tattoo, and then his licks became wider, flatter, and even more agonizingly slow. Harry’s thighs were trembling, his mouth hung open letting out desperate pants, and every so often he’d close his eyes and moan softly, and Louis loved it. He adored those little noises, the way Harry was so pliant and willing beneath him, the way _he_ was in control and this could carry on for hours if he wanted it to and Harry couldn’t do a thing about it other than lie there and _beg._ The very thought of it made Louis hot all over.

His tactics were filthy and merciless; sucking deep purple love-bites into Harry’s moonbeam skin, flicking the very tip of his tongue right over Harry’s rim, pushing his legs wider and wider apart with his hands, driving Harry insane. Every so often, he’d blow softly against Harry’s hole and watch the goosebumps rise up, listen to Harry sob. Louis felt a strange urge to start dirty talking, to watch Harry squirm while he whispered filthy endearments against his warm, white skin, but of course his tongue was rather busy to be talking. Halfway through sucking a bruise into the inside of one of Harry’s thighs, Louis nipped lightly at his skin and then breathed,

“Tell me what you want to do to me.”

Harry groaned, frantically fisting the sheets, fingers curled tightly against his zebra-print bedspread, mouth open. Those rosebud pink lips were abused from where he’d bitten down on them to hold back sobs and from where he’d been kissing Louis, and almost seemed to glow, shockingly pink, his lip ring glinting enticingly. His cheeks were flushed, he was sweaty, and his hair was standing on end as if he’d been running his fingers through it. With every variation in pressure of Louis’ tongue on his skin, every brush of his fingertips on his thighs or arse, Harry’s whole body jerked, and he was trembling all over anyway. Panting like he was running a marathon, Harry forced his eyes open; they were glazed, seaweed green and filled with lust, and he gasped and ran his tongue over his puffy lips, lingering over his piercing, making eye contact with Louis. He was beautifully, delightfully _wrecked_ , and it was an absolutely breathtaking sight. Louis felt almost as breathless as Harry was.

“W-what?” he moaned. His eyes closed again, and he shuddered, hips jerking involuntarily upwards.

“I’d do it, but my mouth’s kind of busy right now. I like the whole dirty talk thing. Just – like, talk to me. Tell me what you want to do.”

It took a few more seconds of lip-licking and biting at his piercing, fingers clenching in sheets and hips rolling against thin air, but eventually, Harry opened his glazed eyes, gave Louis a lazy smirk and said with one eyebrow raised, “Funny, I didn’t hear you say please.”

Smirking right back, Louis buried his face between Harry’s legs and buried his tongue deeply inside him, flicking delicately at the edges of his hole and then slipping inside and losing his finesse completely, evoking a whine from the back of Harry’s throat.

“You wanna _make_ me say please?”

“God, I – fuck – yeah.” It took Harry a moment to catch his breath, but then he managed to force out, “wanna...suck you off...wanna let you feel – feel this –” he tapped his lip piercing “ – trailing down your skin, I know you like that.”

With a growl of approval, Louis delved more deeply inside, his tongue flickering delicately past the first ring of muscle and making Harry whimper and throw his head back against the sheets.

“And I want – I want – to get my fingers inside you,” he said breathlessly. “I-I’m a...I bottom, uh, usually. But – it’s the best feeling – I wanna show you – and N-Nick always said – I was good with my fingers –”

Disapproving of the mention of Harry’s ex – if Harry was thinking about his ex while they were having sex, clearly Louis wasn’t doing it well enough – Louis pulled his legs roughly apart and pushed his face further forwards, breathing out against Harry’s hole and then licking him messily, forgetting any attempts at refinery in favour of simply making Harry forget not only his ex’s name, but his own name as well. In fact, the only name he wanted Harry to be able to remember was his.

He’d expected a good reaction to that; he _hadn’t_ , however, expected Harry to freeze, his whole body locking up, eyes flying open in shock. His fingers seized two handfuls of sheets and then his body jerked, and he came suddenly, unexpectedly and violently, sobbing out loud while his hips thrusted into empty air, and Louis was left a little bit shocked by the intensity and suddenness of it all.

Cautiously sitting up, he looked down at Harry, who was lying there, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling like he’d just had some kind of epiphany, arms spread out to show off the bright lines of his tattoos, the rose especially blatant against his skin. He was sweaty, flushed and stunned, and he looked like he’d just had an electric shock. Even as Louis stared at him, surprised by just how ruined he looked and how much of an effect just a few swipes of his tongue on puckered skin had had, Harry’s gaze dropped from the ceiling and he made eye contact with Louis. For a few moments, he just _stared_ – then a slow smirk started spreading across his face, and all of a sudden he started _laughing._

“What’s funny?” Louis asked, a little hurt until he remembered the look on Harry’s face as he came, and then his injured expression gained a slightly smug undertone.

Still laughing merrily away to himself, Harry reached up and started fiddling with his angel bites before propping himself up on one elbow, grinning all over his face, and said, “Sorry. I just think it’s funny – I just had a feeling you were gonna be good at that. Only you were better than I expected you to be, certainly without practice. And I’m just –” he started rocking gleefully with laughter, “you have your mother’s eyes, did you know? Her exact eyes. And I’m looking into your eyes right now, and I’ve got this amazing mental image of her glaring at me and telling me she’d have me arrested if I dared lay a finger on you sexually, and then less than two hours later I’m lying here recovering from having your tongue in my arse.” Then he fell about in convulsions of laughter.

At first, Louis was aghast, staring at him in utter horror as he visualized what his mother would say if she did in fact discover where Louis’ tongue had just been, but he was unable to think of the words that would spill disgustedly from her lips, and realized rather quickly that that was because Harry had just happened upon a scenario which would actually render his mother speechless.

Lying flat on his back next to Harry, Louis burst out laughing, and then he grabbed Harry’s large hand and squeezed, and they lay on his rumpled bedspread laughing together and holding hands, skin sweaty and bare, Louis wearing only a pair of boxers (and they might actually have been Harry’s, he hadn’t bothered to look when he picked them up off the floor) and Harry wearing nothing whatsoever, cheerfully and brazenly naked and looking rather proud of that fact.

They both lay and laughed for a long time, until it started to make their ribs and stomachs ache and grew tiring and the joke lost meaning, so that they were both lying and laughing at nothing, because lying down for some strange reason makes you laugh more. A long time after that, their laughter died away and gave way to silence, and it was nice, just to be able to lie there and not talk and feel completely comfortable with it. The confusion in Louis’ head had for once also faded into nothingness, leaving him without stress and underlying panic so that his mind was blissfully clear. It was nice not to have to think about things, to have temporary freedom from the worries about what he was going to do about school and living arrangements and church and basically _life_ now that he had no home he was welcome to go to anymore, at least not one where it was practical for him to be (Harry would have happily put him up, and would have to for the time being, but there really wasn’t enough room for him to stay long-term). To not be afraid that someone was going to find them like this. Just, for once, not to have to think about things. He didn’t understand why anyone would want to think about things at all actually, now that he himself had stopped. Many of the best times of his life, times he’d spent with Harry, had been times where he’d stopped thinking and just _done._ It was nice. He felt relaxed and a little sleepy. Harry’s fingertips were on his thigh, trailing abstract patterns on his skin that felt like bright, blazing lines being drawn on him by sparklers, but this time there was nothing remotely sexual about it. It was just for the sake of some contact between them, other than where their bodies were touching slightly as they lay side by side.

Louis absentmindedly reached up to toy with the chains of the delicate silver necklace which usually would have been resting on his collarbones, but his fingers trailed across empty skin. Startled, he felt around for it for a few minutes, then realization crashed down and his face crumpled. He dropped his hand, looking lost, and bit down very hard on his lip as if he was closed to tears and this was his only way of holding them back.

Harry hated the expression so much on his face; he couldn’t bear it. He wanted Louis to smile again – a genuine, _happy_ smile, not just a wicked smile during sex or a silly smirk because he’d made a stupid joke, or an uncontrollable laugh at a ridiculous and overwhelming situation. A real, bright, blazing Louis smile. Patting Louis’ bare thigh, he slipped out of bed and padded across the room to his chair, where an assortment of bracelets dangled from the top of it, over the edge, hanging down the back in neat rows so that they were all easy to pick out. The arms of the chair were threaded with more bracelets than Harry’s slender white wrists could hold. Skimming his fingertips over the necklaces, Harry searched for a while, then made a satisfied sound as he found what he was looking for. He lifted a necklace away from the others, gently pulling it free, and Louis watched curiously as he held up a string of wooden rosary beads with a little brass crucifix dangling from the end of it.

Slipping back into bed, Harry looked him in the eyes and admitted, “This was a Christening present when I was about two. I’ve worn it a couple of times, but it’s kind of clunky for my taste, and then the church chucked me out and I got the impression that I wasn’t supposed to put it on anymore...” The beads clicked gently as the cross swung between them; Louis’ eyes followed it but he didn’t comment. “I know it’s not the same as yours, but I thought...maybe it’d do?”

For a while, Louis contemplated, taking the necklace off him and examining it. He tested its weight, gently touched the little cross, ran his fingers over the smooth polished wood of the beads. Harry watched him anxiously, apparently finding it very important that Louis wouldn’t be upset or offended by his gift. Then Louis smiled – it took a little effort to put it on his face, because of the memories and connotations that hanging another crucifix around his neck would bring, the weight back onto his shoulders, but he knew that this necklace represented something different, and casting his burden off completely was not the answer. He still loved God; he wanted that to be absolutely clear to everyone who saw him. He loved Harry, too. How better to express it, then, by wearing a little piece of both of them around his neck?

“Thank you,” he said softly, temporarily closing his fingers around the necklace. “It’s lovely.” Turning his back on Harry, feeling weirdly exposed, he looked over his shoulder and dropped the beads back into Harry’s hand. “Would you put it on for me?”

Harry trailed his fingertips up Louis’ back, touch so light that Louis could barely feel it; he smiled a little more and pushed back a little against Harry’s hand, trying to both prolong and intensify the contact. There was no clasp on the necklace, so it couldn’t be a typical movie moment – but at the same time, it avoided any awkward fumbling from Harry’s large fingers with a tiny hook and eye. In silence, Harry slipped the necklace around Louis’ neck, straightening it so that the cross hung in about the same position on Louis’ neck that his old one had. Then he kissed Louis on the shoulder.

“I love you,” Harry said seriously.

His hand was resting on Louis’ shoulder; Louis reached up and tangled his fingers with Harry’s, and then he twisted around to kiss him on the lips. The kiss deepened, Louis swivelled around and pulled himself into Harry’s lap, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist, and he sighed against Harry’s already swollen lips. They both knew where this was going; they both knew they’d definitely sleep tonight. Harry leaned forwards, pressing Louis against the mattress, and they lay still for a while, Louis blindly tracing where he thought the lines and curves of Harry’s wings were on his skin, while Harry simply held Louis, their hearts hammering together, the cool brass cross caught between their chests.

“I love you too,” Louis said, and the word tasted like freedom on his lips.

 


	17. Chapter 17

“You look _good_ ,” Harry said, wolf-whistling and raising his eyebrows.

“Mm. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s very... _me._ I mean don’t get me wrong, I like it on you, but I dunno, there’s something about it that’s a little bit...” Struggling to put his thoughts into words, Louis frowned at his reflection in the mirror and reached underneath the mess of chains hanging around his neck to touch the rosary beads underneath. “ _Dark_? Can we at least rub off some of the eyeliner?”

He was sat on a stool in front of Harry’s bedroom mirror, biting his lip as he stared at his reflection. They were going out tonight, to a club somewhere so that Louis could have his first proper taste of alcohol without parental supervision which _wasn’t_ vile church wine or watered-down punch, and Louis had somewhat warily agreed to let Harry loose on him and make him up, after Harry had admitted to a secret longing to see Louis dressed up as a punk. Out of a desire to make him happy, Louis had consented. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Harry had dyed a deep blue streak into his hair – “it washes out, promise, it only lasts for one night!” “It’d better!” – and insisted on making him leave it down, out of its usual quiff, because he said he loved Louis’ fringe. Apparently, he wasn’t lying; he kept absentmindedly running his fingers through it, which Louis actually liked far more than he wanted to let on. He kept feeling an odd urge to make a sort of contented purring noise that he was determined _never_ to let past his lips. They’d both tried to ease several different rings and studs of various sizes through Louis’ lip, hoping that the hole hadn’t closed up, but the hole was almost closed up now, definitely too small to fit anything through, so that idea had to be abandoned. Harry looked a bit wistful.

Louis was wearing a pair of reasonably innocuous black Chinos; Harry had a liking for jeans so tight that they appeared to be trying to suffocate his legs, and although Louis’ legs were shorter than Harry’s, they weren’t any skinnier, and the slight curve of his stomach meant that he’d struggled vainly to squeeze into Harry’s jeans and failed miserably. This had been extremely humiliating to him, and he’d almost tried to call off the whole thing while he locked himself in the bathroom and stared at his stomach, wondering where on earth his six-pack had wandered off to, before Harry had burst in – “Oi! You could have knocked, I could have been on the loo or something!” “So what? I’ve already seen your dick – hell, I’ve already had it in my mouth” – and dropped to his knees, kissing from his neck down to his happy trail, mouth lingering over the light dusting of hairs emerging from the top of his boxers, and assured him that he loved Louis’ belly. It took quite a while of Harry worshipping his stomach before Louis sighed and agreed to come out with him, because maybe it wasn’t _that_ bad (and maybe he’d pretended to be a bit more upset about the whole thing than he really was, because he really did rather enjoy having Harry kissing him quite so devotedly.) He was also, after a whole lot of duress and bribery in the form of promises of sexual favours from Harry, wearing a tight black t-shirt covered in silver skulls, with little silver chains dangling from the sleeves and neckline. Harry’s expert hands had outlined his eyes with a ring of deep black, and smudged it artistically so that he would look less like a racoon and more like someone confident, someone unafraid. Someone who could stand beside Harry, who always seemed so permanently unruffled by anything anyone else ever said, and look like he was supposed to be there.

Still, Louis couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was all a _bit_ too much.

“Don’t you dare touch it! You look perfect. What’s your shoe size, by the way? Where on earth did I put my Doc Martens?” Frowning, Harry dived back into his wardrobe and started rummaging, and Louis watched in amusement as three pairs of black converse, four shirts and a single solitary flip-flop came flying out over his head.

“Hardly perfect, I think. And are you really sure I have to change my _shoes_? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He pointed in mock indignation at his dirty white converse.

Bobbing out of the wardrobe, Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning disgust. “Please, darling – _those_ shoes, with _that_ shirt? _Never_ mix black and white, you’ll look like a zebra. Unless it’s your _shirt_ that’s white. That always works. Come on, we’re both flaming homosexuals, remember? You should already know this.”

Sighing, Louis got up and sprawled dramatically on Harry’s bed. “I know, I know. I’m a disgrace to the name of gay. I’m so ashamed! I should just crawl away and hide my shame forever and never show my face again!”

Grinning, Harry walked over to him and dropped a pair of enormous, clumpy black boots on the floor beside the bed. “That’d be an awful shame. I’m sort of partial to that face of yours, you know. Budge up a bit.” Digging Louis in the ribs, he waited for the newly punk Louis to squirm up enough for him to squeeze onto the bed beside him, then rested his head on Louis’ chest, playing idly with the assortment of bracelets he’d slipped onto Louis’ wrist. One of them was the vibrant rubber rainbow bracelet that Louis had noticed the first time he’d ever seen Harry.

Slipping his fingers into Harry’s hair, Louis kneaded his scalp for a while, allowing thick brown curls to slip through his fingers like waves of silk, running his hands through the dark mess of hair while Harry sighed contentedly, pushing his head against Louis’ hands. Pleased by the reaction he was getting, Louis carried on massaging Harry’s head until he noticed that Harry was licking his lips and gripping rather hard on the bracelets around Louis’ wrist, gaze glued to his outlined blue eyes, and that was when he figured something out.

“Are you getting off on this?” he asked, amused.

“What, the hair thing? Sure. I’ve kind of got a thing about my hair. You can keep going if you want.” Harry paused. “Actually, I don’t care if you don’t want to; please don’t stop.”

Chuckling, Louis continued tugging gently at his hair, trying to smooth the unruly curls into some kind of neatness, although he knew all too well that he was fighting a losing battle. “Actually, I was talking about the eyeliner. And the punk clothes. And me wearing them.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s nice, that’s really nice...mm...” Wriggling in pleasure at the pressure of Louis’ hands, Harry admitted, “yeah, I guess I am. I told you how I felt about the idea, didn’t I? I like it even more than I expected to.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna make a habit of it, to be honest. It’s not really _me._ Maybe I’ll do it on your birthday. Or at Christmas, or anniversaries, or when you’re mad at me. But I’m serious, this really does it for you?”

Blushing, Harry nodded. “What, did you think I wanted you to dress up just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, I guess I kind of thought...maybe you were going to make fun of me.”

Shocked, Harry sat bolt upright; Louis hastily had to disentangle his fingers to avoid ripping half his hair out. “What?”

Uncomfortable, Louis squirmed and looked away.

Catching his chin, Harry turned his head to look him in the eye. “You thought I was going to _laugh_ at you?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Why would I do that? Why would I _ever_ laugh at you, especially for dressing the same way I do every day?”

“Because I look _stupid_!” Louis cried out in frustration, tugging at the rosary beads around his neck. “Look!” Hauling Harry to his feet, he pulled him over to the wardrobe, where there was a full-length mirror on the inside of the door, and pointed at their reflections, standing hand in hand, Louis’ face upset, Harry’s confused. With them standing next to each other, the difference between them was even more apparent. In a plain black shirt and jeans, wearing a single thick chain around his neck and plenty more on his wrists, tattoos bright and visible against his pale arms, underneath of his hair vibrant purple and feet bare, Harry looked completely the part of a punk. It wasn’t just in the clothes, but the confidence with which he stood staring back at himself, the way he exuded calm self-assurance and was so clearly at ease with himself. Beside him, Louis was squirming with embarrassment, feeling like he was just playing at it – the bright royal blue streak in his hair looked too obvious, like he was screaming ‘LOOK AT ME!’ at the top of his lungs. There were too many necklaces around his neck, looking ridiculous in contrast with the crucifix necklace, and the bracelets on his wrists kept sliding oddly over each other; he had to constantly hitch them up to stop them from falling off, since his significantly smaller hands weren’t large enough to keep them in place like Harry’s were. Harry’s Chinos were baggy around the ankles where he’d had to roll them up because he was too short. His borrowed shirt strained slightly over the curve of his stomach. Red-faced and flustered, he looked ridiculous. “Look at me! I look pathetic.” He turned miserably away from his reflection.

Harry’s arm slipped around his waist and he cuddled him, lips brushing against his collarbones. “Okay,” he said softly. “You want me to tell you something? I think you look sexy. No word of a lie, this really – seeing you like this, it’s so hot, it turns me on like you wouldn’t believe. Like – damnit, Louis, what I wouldn’t give to have you bend me over right now and –” Cutting himself off, he took several deep breaths. “Well, you get the gist of it. But I’m sorry. I’m as bad as your mother, trying to make you like me, when you’re clearly not comfortable like this, and that’s not right. I’m not going to force you into doing something that makes you unhappy. I’ll go and get the make-up remover. Don’t get me wrong, I think you look gorgeous, but if you don’t like it, then that’s okay.”

Louis stared at him. “You’re not angry?”

Harry stared back. “Good grief,” he said softly, “you never listen to a word I say, do you? Of course I’m not angry with you! This was just a kind of experiment, to see how you felt about it. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted to be like me. Now I know. You’re you.” He kissed Louis’ cheek with what seemed surprisingly akin to relief. “I was just kind of worried. I wasn’t sure if you were just...I don’t know, sort of imitating me, because you thought that was going to make you happy, and confident, and all that. I don’t want you to have to copy anyone. I want you to be you.”

“Yeah, but when you think about it, all everyone _does_ is copy. Look around you. Everything everyone does is something they’ve picked up off someone else – hairstyles, musical taste, favourite food, TV shows, everything you like is something that somebody else liked first. We’re all a world of copies. Individuality is just a different combination of imitations of other people.”

Grinning, Harry said, “Wow. Now look who’s coming out with all the deep philosophical speeches. I think you just blew my whiteboard theory from here to the end of next week.” He rested his head on Louis’ shoulder. “I think you’re the most individual copy I’ve ever met,” he whispered, “if it’s any consolation.”

Louis answered him by turning around, catching his face and kissing him. Surprised, Harry grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer, responding excitedly to the enthusiasm behind the kiss, and before all too long fingers were in hair and breaths were becoming hasty and laboured, and Louis was backing towards the bed, running his hands through Harry’s hair and down his back while Harry kissed him almost desperately, his hands hard enough on Louis’ hips to leave bruises.

“Maybe I won’t take off the eyeliner just yet,” Louis whispered, and he pulled Harry’s shirt over his head.

 

~*~

“You twats are late!” Niall yelled, waving at them from across the street.

Grinning, Harry pulled Louis across the road by the hand, and they jogged over to where the blond and Zayn stood side by side. Zayn was looking pointedly at his wrist, where his watch would have been if he’d been wearing one; Niall, whilst waving enthusiastically with one hand, was also feigning sleep with his cheek propped up against his other hand, pretending to snore. His eyes had drooped closed, and Harry really wanted to come up really close to him so that when he opened his eyes they would be nose to nose and he’d scare the blond out of his wits, but he thought maybe Louis might get a bit jealous. He’d admitted to being the jealous type.

“Yeah, whatever. Sorry,” he said unapologetically, “we had some last-minute, uh, _things_ to sort out.” Namely washing most of the blue dye out of Louis’ hair and changing their clothes, since they’d crumpled up all the ones they’d been wearing. Louis had found a pair of tight purple trousers and a thick knitted sweater with an assortment of colours running through the threads, and with his hair still not quite dry, falling all floppy and shining over his forehead, dirty converse on his feet, he looked so happy that it made Harry’s heart leap. Seeing Louis finally free, able to be himself after so long of pretending to the world and to himself that he was someone else – he was so happy that he was _glowing._

Then again, it could have been the colossal orgasm he’d had less than half an hour ago. Harry expected that he looked similarly blissful.

Niall walked up to them, raised an eyebrow, then buried his nose in Harry’s hair and inhaled deeply. He snorted, then sniffed Louis’ shoulder, making the two of them exchange bemused looks at being smelt, then Niall announced, “Yeah, just as I thought. It’s not hard to tell why _you two_ are late. You _reek_ of sex.”

Louis blushed, and Harry grinned.

“That’s as may be, but _you_ smell like Zayn. Something you want to tell me, huh?”

Feigning nonchalance, Niall said, “What’s a bit of cuddling between mates? Especially mates who’ve dated before.”

“And might be about to start again?” Harry teased.

“Dunno. Maybe. We’ll see how it goes. Now, lovely as it is standing here talking about everyone’s love lives like a bunch of girls, we’ve got things to do, places to be. It’s time to par- _tay_ , am I right or am I right?

“Par-tay?” Louis asked with a smirk.

“Par- _tay._ Especial emphasis on the _tay_ , or it doesn’t work.” Ruffling Louis’ freshly washed hair, Niall hollered “let’s paint the town red, my homosexual chums! If the par- _tay_ don’t start til we get in, then the whole town’s sorely lacking in action, so let’s go and perform a public service and start it!” Then he skipped off, singing Ke$ha under his breath, surprisingly tunefully.

“Is he drunk _already_?” Louis asked with amusement.

Zayn snorted. “Sadly not. At least that way we could excuse him. No, he’s just a prick. Niall, come back, you knob!” he yelled, “Louis’ mate isn’t here yet!”

Stopping in his tracks, Niall gave a great sigh of disappointment and shuffled back to them, hands stuffed in his pockets, pouting.  

“Everyone’s late today,” he said sadly.

“Sorry I’m late!”

“Liam!” Louis whooped, tearing himself away from Harry’s side to run at his friend.

Liam’s shaved hair was growing back into a cute little fuzz on top of his head. He was wearing a white shirt, faded jeans, ASDA trainers and a droopy grey thing that looked suspiciously like some kind of cardigan, but somehow he was making it _work._ He had a crucifix necklace hanging around his neck not dissimilar to the one that Louis used to wear, which made a slight pang of longing punch Louis squarely in the middle of the chest before he disregarded it and threw his arms around Liam. Breathing in the familiar smell of Liam’s laundry detergent, the brand of Lynx he’d been wearing since he was about twelve, and a smell that Louis couldn’t quite place but had always sort of reminded him of old teddy bears, Louis thumped Liam on the back and revelled in having a little piece of his old life back that was constant and  could be relied upon – and clearly didn’t hate him. It was more relieving than he’d ever realized it would be when he’d called Liam and begged him to come out with them tonight. Louis was still sort of finding his niche within Harry’s group, although they were making him about as welcome as they possibly could, and it was nice not to be the only one who was still a little unsure of himself.

“Whoa, get a room, lads,” Niall commented with a wolf-whistle.

“Getting kind of jealous over here, Lou,” Harry said; he was joking, but there was a slight edge to his voice which suggested that perhaps he was maybe a little bit serious as well, so Louis manoeuvred out of the hug and slipped his hand back into Harry’s, interlocking their fingers and realizing only as he did it that he’d missed the contact. He felt a strange tightness in his chest unravelling as Harry’s thumb skittered over the back of his hand, brushing his knuckles, and he realized that he’d actually been a bit worried that Liam was only coming here to yell at him, though he’d seemed pretty amicable on the phone. The only person he’d been angry with that Louis could tell was Jay – and it was weird enough seeing Liam angry in the first place, when he was usually so calm and unruffled.

Taking advantage of Liam’s position, standing a little apart from the rest of the group, Niall darted around the back of him, eyeing his arse, and didn’t seem entirely disappointed. He cast a couple of glances between Louis’ backside and Liam’s, like he was comparing, and nodded contemplatively. Then he stood on his toes to look into Liam’s eyes, walked all around him to examine him from every angle, and stepped back looking pretty pleased with what he saw.

“He’s pretty cute too,” he said, nodding his head at Liam. “Honestly, Harry, where _do_ you find them? I am supposed to be straight, you know, but there’s too much fine ass around here for me to think straight. In more ways than one,” he chuckled.

Unfazed by the fact that he and Niall had only just set eyes upon each other and already the blond was coming on to him, Liam grinned at him and made a show of eyeing him up and down as if he were having similar thoughts, although he did it goofily enough to show that he really was only joking, and then he waved at Harry, stuck his tongue out at Zayn, and thumped Louis on the back with great enthusiasm.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Niall drawled in a pseudo American accent, dragging out every word with an over-exaggerated Texan twang. Louis felt incredibly tempted to smell his breath and see if Zayn was wrong and he was, in fact, drunk, although he suspected that he could have been flirting. If so, he had a very odd definition of flirting.

“Uh...Liam?” Liam said bemusedly, like he wasn’t quite sure it was the right answer. Louis could sympathise. Niall kind of had that effect on people.

“Excellent,” Niall said briskly, dropping the accent immediately as if he’d suddenly gotten bored of it – which, in all fairness, he probably had. “Well, now we’ve all been introduced, shall we get this par- _tay_ on the road?”

Whistling cheerfully to himself, Niall skipped away from them, apparently either completely unaware of the oddity of the sight of a blond punk boy galloping down the street at top speed, or perhaps he just didn't care, which was far more likely. Nonplussed, Liam stared after him, running a hand over the bristles of his hair, and asked, "Is he, um. Is he already drunk?"

"No, just obnoxious," Zayn and Louis said in unison, and grinned at each other.

They all started walking, following after Niall in companionable silence. Louis was tucked comfortably underneath one of Harry's long, ink-inscribed arms, his tanned, slender fingers linked with Harry's elegant bony white ones and dangling down over his shoulder, resting against his chest. Zayn was quiet, maybe a little shy due to the new addition to their group, lagging slightly behind with his brown-eyed gaze glued to the ground like he'd lost something and was looking for it, hands stuck in his pockets. Up ahead of them, Niall was his usual rambunctious self, all blond hair and loud voice, carelessly stumbling forwards and alternately laughing and swearing every time he tripped in his slightly too-big boots. Liam, not quite at ease, ambling halfway between where Niall had ventured forwards and where Harry and Louis leisurely followed. They didn't quite fit together properly yet, the five of them. The dynamics of the group were too unevenly split; Harry and his friends had a lazy, easy kind of friendship, brought about by binds forged in years of being stauch schoolfriends, reinforced by the way they had stuck resolutely by him when the rest of his associates had turned on him. Louis, as Harry's friend - then boyfriend - had been welcomed into their little group, since it had been decided that Harry was an excellent judge of character and if he believed that Louis was all right, then he must be okay. Having made his acquaintance several times before, and in various stages of drunkenness, Zayn and Niall were fairly at ease with him now.

The problem was trying to find Liam a niche in the group. Liam and Louis had been friends since nursery school and perhaps even before; several of Louis' fuzziest memories from childhood had Liam in tow, and the kind of simple coexistence they had, a relationship that had been so long in the making that he couldn't even imagine ever struggling to just _be_ with Liam. They'd been effortless for so long that their friendship was easier than ABC. He'd known Liam longer than he'd known his alphabet.

His relationship with Harry, shortlived as it may have been, was just as...effortless was the wrong word; there had been too many bumps in the road to describe it as such. But Harry knew him as well, if not better than Liam did. He certainly knew him more intimately. However, this was perhaps more a hindrance than a help. While he and Harry we snuggled cosily up together, every bit the happy couple, they were distracted from the rest of the group and couldn't help to break the ice.

Still, Zayn, though shy at first and wary of new people, was not inherently unfriendly, and Niall was like an excitable, lollopy Labrador, eager to both love and _be_ loved. As for Harry, he was eager to prove that he could be a part of Louis' life, that he belonged there (for a boy who so stubbornly refused to blend in, it was surprising how desperate he was just to _belong_ ) and as far as he was concerned, befriending as many of Louis' friends as would consent to meeting him was all part of that. So far, he and Liam had been getting on like a house on fire. For Liam and Louis, that fire had been burning for so long that it had burned itself out to comfortable ashes; for Liam and Harry, it was just kindling into a flame.

"So where are we going?" Louis asked softly.

"Well, you know Niall's a bit of a par- _tay_ animal, as he so eloquently expressed," said Harry with a grin, "so I thought we'd go clubbing. Nothing wild," he promised when Louis looked at him in alarm, "I've been going since I was fourteen, it's all very tame. There're bouncers in every corner keeping an eye on things - and they even beep the swear words out of the songs." Then he gave Louis a cocky grin that he'd have wanted to slap off anyone else's face, but that was stupidly cute and goofy on Harry's face. His lip piercing and his angel bites glinted in the sunset-orange glow of the street lamps.

"Will there be dancing? I'm a bit of a crap dancer."

"Don't worry, so am I. I just sort of leap around and flip my hair everywhere and look like a prat, and nobody dares laugh, because I'm dead intimidating, and all that."

He'd been speaking relatively quietly, but Niall still heard him and snorted loudly.

"We don't have to dance if you don't want. We can just have a few drinks and watch Niall make a dick of himself."

"Oi!"

"He _will_ make a dick of himself," Harry assured him. "It's a given."

"I can hear every word you're saying!"

"Which is exactly why I'm saying it. Anyway. I think you'll have fun, Lou. It's not like a rave-up, or anything like that. Not that I wouldn't love to throw you around in a mosh pit and get you all sweaty and hot..." Cutting himself off, Harry grinned sheepishly, licking his flushed pink lips. "You get the idea. But I think perhaps we'll save that for another time. My birthday's coming up in a couple of months." Patting Louis playfully on the arse, he slipped his arm from around his shoulders and jogged off to join Niall.

Louis had never actually been clubbing before. Why should he have? He had been very much the stay-at-home type, studying to try and keep his parents happy, playing with his sisters, helping around the house. Now, he didn't have to do any of those things,  and despite the thrills that freedom sent jolting down his spine, he thought maybe he would come to miss them. Maybe he did a tiny bit already.

But. He was Harry's boyfriend now. Harry wasn't cool; he had never been cool, and he never would be cool. Harry was a goofy, beautiful dork, and he wasn't at all ashamed to show it. What Harry was, was confident, outwardly at least. He was a partygoer. He enjoyed quiet nights in with Louis and DVDs and a large packet of popcorn, but he also liked to go out, to dance even though he was openly abysmal at it and the music being played was for hyped up teenyboppers, not his scene at all. Louis didn't want to tie him down, and he was curious. He'd seen calm Harry, happy Harry, angry Harry, miserable Harry, nervous Harry, sleeping Harry, vulnerable Harry, cocky Harry, groaning mid-orgasm Harry, playful, flirtatious Harry - but he hadn't yet seen Harry either drunk or on the dance-floor of a club, and he wanted to know every aspect of Harry's being, every little nuance of him, from the bits everybody saw to the bits that only he and Harry would ever see, and he wanted to know that Harry trusted him implicitly enough to not only let Louis circumvent his walls, but to understand why he'd erected them in the first place. To show Louis his cracks and believe beyond all shadow of a doubt that Louis would never exploit the weaknesses against him. Louis was confident that Harry understood him. Maybe he didn't completely _know_ him yet. They hadn't been together long enough for that. But Harry understood the inner workings of Louis' mind frighteningly well, could probably have predicted his actions in a hundred different scenarios, whereas Harry was still an unpredictable rogue element, like a character in a murder mystery novel that had begun writing itself - and Louis wanted to know him well enough to figure out the spoilers.

He was rather nervous at the thought of whether he'd even be allowed in, though. Now that they were queuing up, there was plenty of time to examine all of the other people trying to get into the club, and to Louis' dismay, they all seemed to be far cooler than him. Aside from Harry's little group of excitable punk misfits, there were several groups of girls in tight skirts with elaborate hairstyles, raising their finely plucked eyebrows at everyone they set eyes upon. There was a group of guys with tall hair and scary biceps who kept punching each other and trying to impress the girls, who if anything looked even less impressed by the second as the display went on. It was rather like watching animals fight to win a mate, except every single girl looked like the first guy to approach her after bashing all his mates into submission would end up with a stiletto heel embedded in his eyeball. There were quite a few couples; girls snuggling up to their boyfriends, giggling, chewing gum, flirting like it was a game of table tennis and they were rapidly exchanging banter back and forth like ping pong balls. Louis saw a lesbian couple too, hand in hand with one girl resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder in a position he recognized very well, and he found it comforting that he and Harry wouldn’t be the only same-sex couple in the room.

“Harry, they’re never gonna let me in,” he whispered. The rosary beads around his neck felt chunky and heavy, a screaming statement to the world about how devoutly religious he was – something which wouldn’t usually have bothered him; he was proud of his faith, but he hated the thought of those pouty girls with their flicky hair sneering at him over it, and he hated even more the thought that he might get laughed at and turned away because let’s face it; this wasn’t exactly a hubbub of religious activity. He didn’t think any of his peers from school would have been seen dead here.

Harry smiled encouragingly at him. “Sure they will. Just follow my lead.”

The queue surged forwards all of a sudden; Louis automatically shrank back but Harry seized his wrist and tugged him forward, grip firm but reassuring, keeping him close, and then they rushed up to the doorway and stopped dead in front of an enormous bouncer who was so tall that he even towered over lanky Harry, whose nose was just about level with the man’s barrel chest. Unfazed, Harry tilted his head up, cocking it slightly to the left, and he and the bouncer scrutinized each other for  a while. Harry was smirking all over his face, and Louis half expected him to get a punch in the face for the sheer insolence of his expression.

Then, Harry gave the man a saucy little wink, and Louis was one hundred percent sure that he was about to get punched. He prepared to yank Harry out of the way, which was far likelier to work that trying to block the blow, seeing as he felt even smaller than usual next to this giant man.

To Louis’ utter shock, the man cracked a smile which grew into a full-blown grin, like he’d only been intending to twitch his lips but Harry’s giddy mood was infectious somehow. Shaking his head, the man rolled his eyes at Harry as if they were friends and he was used to his stupidity, and then he waved them both through, still grinning broadly.

Louis didn’t have time to be shocked; Harry hauled him inside and all of a sudden he was in his first real club.

It was sort of like the movies, but less daunting than he’d imagined. The music was pretty loud, so that it was difficult to overhear people’s conversations or even hear very well what people were saying who were stood quite close to you, but it wasn’t loud enough to hurt his ears. Nobody was drunk or crying yet. He didn’t think anyone was high, either. And now that he was actually inside and not so terrified that he was going to disgrace both Harry and himself by being denied access to a club that Harry had been getting into with no trouble since he was fourteen, Louis felt a lot less out of place. It didn’t take him long to realize that he had nothing to worry about on the front of being cooler than those morons who had been jostling each other outside, at least.

Over by the bar, Niall was waving enthusiastically at them, almost knocking the drink out of the hand of a girl standing beside him who had a cute hairstyle and glasses too big for her face. She gave him a dirty look, did a double take, and then started gawping at him, either because she fancied him or because he was definitely an interesting sight, dressed head to toe in black and wearing a loose tank top that kept falling down to show his pentagram tattoo, and leaping up and down like an overexcited six year old. They headed over to him, and then Niall started talking, words bursting out of his mouth so quickly that Louis would have struggled to hear them even without the music.

“Right, what’s your poison, lads? I’m buying the first round.”

“Vodka and orange,” Zayn said boredly, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “and don’t skimp on the orange.”

“You say that like I’m behind the bar. Liam?”

“Uh, I’ll have a WKD?” Liam said tentatively.

“Sure thing. Harry? Lou?”

Louis blinked. He’d always thought the whole drinking discussion had been purely hypothetical. “But...you’re all underage.”

Niall gave him an over-exaggerated wink. “Sure, but you aren’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry told him, “we’ve been coming here since we were fourteen, and we’ve been drinking here since the same age. When we first started coming, they were too scared to challenge us. Now they know us too well and there’s no point in them stopping us when we’ve bought so many drinks from here. It’s not as if _you’re_ underage.” To Niall, he said, “I’ll have the usual, just get me a large one. Lou can share mine. You’ll like it,” he promised, “it’s blue. It tastes like raspberries.”

“Uh, okay,” Louis said cautiously.

Niall started hollering at the barman and he turned around, spotted them, and grinned so hard that Louis was afraid he might rip the muscles of his face. He walked over to them, beaming, and then leaned over the bar and looked right into Harry’s eyes, forearms resting on the polished wood. He was narrow all over, from his waist to his shoulders, except for his enormous smile, looking weirdly intense on his thin face. He looked Harry up and down, his lips closed over his teeth in a smirk, and then he _licked_ those thin lips and that was when Louis decided that there were few people in the world he’d rather punch in the face than this guy.

“Harry!” yelled the guy.

“Tom!” Harry yelled back, enthusiastic and friendly as he always was when people weren’t hurling abuse at him. It was annoying. Louis wanted him to be surly and sullen; he’d seen that side to Harry before and it would’ve been nice to see it make a reappearance. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while. I thought maybe you were too badass for this joint now – I was quite glad, actually, to think that I wouldn’t have your freaky face full of safety-pins scaring off all the punters.” Tom reached out and teasingly tapped Harry’s lip ring, and who the hell gave _him_ permission to touch Harry’s mouth? Louis drew in a little closer to Harry’s side.

“Nah, I considered not coming back, thought maybe I’d had enough retina damage from staring at your ugly mug, but here I am.” Harry smacked him on the arm in a way which was so blatantly platonic Louis almost laughed out loud; he wanted to laugh even more when he saw the barman’s face fall.

“Who’re your mates?” Tom asked as he started pouring out their drinks, his smile having dimmed slightly, and he looked at where Louis was squashed up against Harry’s arm even though there was plenty of space around the bar, and his eyes narrowed sharply to match the rest of him.

He slammed Zayn, Liam and Niall’s glasses down in front of them a little too hard, alcohol sloshing wildly around and some of it slopping onto the bar. Liam flinched, but Zayn and Niall accepted their drinks in silence and started guzzling.

“Oh, that’s Liam,” answered Harry, pointing at Liam, who was staring apprehensively at his drink like he was worried he might fall in and drown in it. Then Harry looped one of his lanky arms around Louis’ shoulders and squeezed, all the tension easing out of Louis in one softly exhaled breath. “This is my boyfriend, Louis.”

“Oh.” Tom’s already narrow eyes became slits, as if his face was a serial killer’s mask with tiny holes slashed into them so he could see. “Got yourself a new man, then? ID, please,” he said brusquely, holding Harry and Louis’ drink away from them.

In utter disbelief, Harry said, “ _What_? Since when did you ever ask any of my mates for ID?”

The guy shrugged. “Sorry. They’ve really clamped down on the rules, now. I gotta ask, more than my job’s worth not to. I’ve been serving you guys too long for it to matter, but for this guy I’d be putting my neck on the line. ID.” He gave Louis an arch look, like he was expecting him to be embarrassed and have to turn away.

Unluckily for him, Louis had been determined not to be caught out like that tonight. He slipped his ID out of his pocket and flashed it smugly in Tom’s face.

Scowling, the barman slammed his drink down so hard on the counter that more than half its contents spilled, then stalked away from them without so much as a goodbye and started violently polishing the beer taps on the other side of the bar. Silently celebrating his mini victory, Louis turned his back on the man and stood on his toes to be closer to Harry’s height, only to find that Harry was looking down at him with an amused expression.

“Alright?”

“Fine,” Louis said, and he reached for the drink and took his first sip of non-communion alcohol. It was pleasantly fizzy, sending bubbles up his nose, and very fruity, and he licked the droplets off his lips and decided that Harry was right; he did like it. He drank a little more.

“It’s just I could’ve sworn you were getting a bit jealous, there.”

“Me? Nah.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Harry murmured. He dipped his head and kissed Louis softly on the lips, then sighed softly. “You taste good. Better than usual, I mean. It’s good stuff, right? You like it?”

“Oh, I do,” Louis said, before placing the glass back on the bar and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. “I really do.” He could feel Tom’s eyes on his back, knew he was shamelessly showing off, and that he oughtn’t to have been; whatever happened to forsaking jealousy? Still, he figured that he might get let off, seeing as the rule generally covered not coveting other people’s possessions, and although Louis was jealous of seeing other people flirt with Harry, he had no one to be jealous of for _having_ Harry. That pleasure was all his.

 

~*~

 

After another few of those blue drinks, Louis’ head was buzzing pleasantly. He felt loose and sort of light, not enough to have lost control of himself, but enough to relax him. Beside him, Harry was pretty tipsy himself, and Louis quite liked that; he enjoyed the way Harry kept snuggling up to him, kissing his neck, nuzzling him with his purple-tinted hair, making a fuss of him. Apparently, Harry was a cuddly drunk. Zayn seemed to be torn between being a moody, depressed drunk and a stupidly cheerful one; every so often he’d start cracking dirty jokes and roaring with laughter before suddenly plunging into a morose, gloomy silence, staring into the depths of his drink like he was trying to look into its soul. Niall, of course, was a bouncy, silly drunk, rushing around kissing strangers on the cheeks and pinching people’s bums and then running away before they could catch him, giggling all the time. He’d pinched Louis’ bum more than once that night, laughing delightedly at how ‘firm and round’ it supposedly was, while Louis squawked fondly at him and Harry swatted his hands away with a growl of “mine”. Louis liked the sound of that, liked being Harry’s. Liam was quiet, probably to avoid disgracing himself, but the huge grin on his face suggested that he was a happy drunk, too. As for Louis, he wasn’t sure what kind of drunk he was, but he appeared to be pretty handsy; he couldn’t seem to stop touching Harry constantly, without even pretending to have an excuse. Every time he spotted the barman’s face when he saw Louis touching Harry, he felt tempted to touch him even more.

But then Tom came barging over and started talking to Harry, commandeering his attention, and Louis was a bit drunk and his tongue was too heavy to spout any of his usual barbed witticisms, too clumsy to be sharp. He was hanging all over Harry, and Harry absentmindedly cuddled him in return, rubbing his back through his shirt, squeezing his waist, but he kept letting out a beautiful, giddy laugh every time Tom said anything mildly funny, the kind of unrestrained laughter which Louis hadn’t heard from him very often but made his heart stop and then start convulsing in his chest. The kind of laugh he wanted to provoke. His jealousy made him angry, and shivery, and then great waves of heat kept crashing over him like tsunami tides of boiling water, until he stopped caring about being polite, stopped caring about the fact that he was drunk and irrational, just stopped _caring._ The underneath of Harry’s fringe was that rich purple that glinted in the light. His jaw was a smooth curve. His smile was so big and beautiful and unrestrained, and every time he threw his head back and laughed and exposed the milky column of his neck, Louis wanted to suck deep violet marks into the skin so that it matched his hair. And Tom was looking at Harry like he wanted to throw him up against a wall and ravage him, and run his bony fingers all over Harry’s body and inside his clothes and kiss him with his thin lips, and Louis knew that he would never be able to because that was _his_ job, except he had the vague idea that it would probably be Harry doing the throwing. He was too small to manhandle Harry, unless Harry felt like being very nice and decided to let him. Tom was tall and spindly but he looked strong, and he was older, at least twenty, and he was giving Harry hungry eyes and smirking and Harry was giggling again at one of his jokes, and Louis hated it and he wanted Harry all to himself and that was when he realized that actually, he was an angry drunk after all.

He disregarded whatever crap Tom was spewing, talking loudly right over it like taping over a cassette, and interrupted loudly, “Hey, Harry, let’s go dance.”

Harry turned to him in surprise. “Sorry, babe, what was that?”

“You. Me. Dance. Now.”

“Uh, okay. Sure,” Harry agreed easily. He slipped his arm around Louis’ waist and they walked off onto the dance floor without even saying goodbye to Tom. Louis was so smug he felt like the proverbial kitten that got the cream – he even thought he might purr.

“I _really_ can’t dance, you know,” Harry told him as they slipped past a couple of the snooty girls from before, leaping madly around with their high heels dangling from their hands, shrieking with manic laughter, lipstick smeared everywhere, clearly drunk out of their minds. They managed to find a clear spot on the dance floor and stood still for a moment. Louis thought he should probably start dancing, but, he wondered, how on earth do you dance? He didn’t have much clue sober and he had even less of a clue drunk, and the last time he’d danced (other than leaping around doing embarrassing air-guitar solos in his bedroom by himself) would have been at a school disco when he was nine. The disco where he’d fallen over trying to do the Cha Cha Slide and cried, and immediately sworn off dancing for the rest of his life.

“S’allright, neither can I,” he said, “I just wanted you away from that sleazebag. Can’t stand him. Dick.” He wasn’t making much sense. Any attempts at eloquence had deserted him; he felt that coherence was probably a better thing to aim for now. Even that was pretty far from his reach.

“What, Tom?”

Louis growled. “Yeah. Smarmy git.”

Stifling a laugh, Harry said, “You _are_ jealous.”

“’M not.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“ _No_ ,” Louis protested, and then he hid his face in Harry’s chest, embarrassed.

Harry laughed into his hair. “Bless. You have absolutely _nothing_ to worry about, Lou. There’s only one guy I’m interested in, and I’m stood right here talking to him. Tom’s not my type at all. He’s way too easy. I like a challenge. Like you.”

“But he’s older. He makes you laugh, and he’s taller than I am. And he’s got a job and probably a car,” Louis mumbled into Harry’s chest.

“I like that you’re short. It means I can do this.” Harry pressed his cheek against the top of Louis’ head. “And you make me laugh too, and who cares that you don’t have a job? It means you can spend more time with me. And you’re older than me, too. I love _you_. And don’t get me wrong, you’re _seriously_ cute when you’re jealous, but I don’t want to see you all worked up, okay? Tom’s been trying to get into my pants since I was fourteen, and he hasn’t managed it yet, and he never will, right? Now, are we gonna dance?”

Louis had to admit to being a bit apprehensive about that idea even though he’d suggested it, but Harry instantly put him at ease by being every bit as terrible at dancing as he’d promised. The first song they danced to was some cheesy plastic bubblegum pop-song, and Harry spent the first half of the song leaping around and the second bent double, wheezing breathlessly. Then, he began treating Louis to a series of the most flamboyant dance moves that he’d ever seen; he was pretty sure that the dance move Harry referred to as ‘pat the dog, screw the lightbulb’ was the single gayest thing he’d ever seen Harry do (excluding sucking Louis’ dick). By the time the fifth or sixth song had rolled around and Harry had moved onto the dance of the devil, otherwise known as the Cha Cha Slide (Louis had sworn enmity with that dance forever after the incident when he was nine) despite the fact that the song playing in the background was _not_ anything resembling the Cha Cha Slide. In fact, it was a slow, mushy love song that they should have been swaying slowly around to, whereas Harry was muttering under his breath, “one hop this time, take it back now y’all!” as if saying it out loud was a necessity in order to be able to perform the dance, and shuffling around with an enormous grin over his face, stumbling over his big feet. Louis couldn’t help but laugh at him and even ended up doing his own very careful rendition of the dance, amazed to find that this time he didn’t actually fall over.

No doubt they looked ridiculous; a drunken, lanky punk with his drunken Christian boyfriend, falling around on the dance floor and laughing at each other, two idiots in love who had forgotten that discrimination even existed. From the bar, Liam fondly watched them, enjoying the sight of Louis being so carefree and unrestrainedly happy. For as long as he could remember, he’d watched his friend making himself tense and miserable trying to keep his family happy – now that his own happiness was Louis’ primary concern, he was like a new person. No tension. No worry. Just giggles and lazy kisses between him and Harry as they swayed stupidly around to a slow song, moving out of time with the music. It was pleasant for Liam to see.

Louis was enjoying himself, having truly loosened up and feeling delightfully relaxed. Now, Harry was laughing that deep, beautiful laugh at him, because of him, and Louis’ hands kept wandering all over Harry’s body and sometimes Harry would playfully slap him away, scolding him about public decency, whereas other times he’d let Louis’ fingers slide up inside his shirt or hook in his belt loops or even, at one point, slide right inside his jeans, although it was a tight squeeze. They were drunk and silly and in love and it reminded Louis of that quote in a movie they’d watched together not long ago, something about being infinite, except he was painfully aware that they _weren’t_ infinite and people change and decay and turn their backs on you, and people die young and your grandparents don’t live forever and most things that feel good – drugs, alcohol, junk food – are bad for you and everyone gets damaged by the things that shouldn’t ruin you at all, like love. And he and Harry were just two more fragile human beings clinging to the skin of a world that seemed so huge but really wasn’t that large at all, and in the grand scheme of things they were little more than ants – but to an ant, its own little world is everything that matters, just as to him, Harry was all that mattered right now. Neither of them were infinite, but right at this moment, sweaty and inebriated, warm bodies entwined together, Harry breathing raspberry-scented air into his face and Louis’ hands on the small of Harry’s back, thumbs stroking his spine, this was their infinity. And it couldn’t go on forever, but if it did, maybe he wouldn’t be quite so inclined to appreciate it.

Someone stumbled and fell, colliding with them, shattering Louis’ little bubble – and his short-lived infinity – far sooner than he would have liked. Angry at being disrupted, he turned to give them a mouthful of abuse that, sober, he would have smothered and exchanged for a sarcastic comment, and drunk he was only too willing to express, only to find that whoever had bumped into him was far shorter than he’d expected. Frowning, he looked down.

She was a girl – quite young, too, although she’d plastered herself in heavy make-up to try and disguise that fact. Her long brown hair had been backcombed into a wild, frizzy mane and covered in hairspray to hold it in place, so it didn’t shift even slightly when she moved her head. It was hot in the room, so her mascara had run. He thought she might have been crying, too. Wearing a white blouse with puffy sleeves and frills all down the front like sea foam, and a skirt so short and tight that it might as well have been a plastic sack pulled taut around her, tottering on high heels several sizes too big, he wouldn’t have recognized her if her voice hadn’t sounded quite so familiar when she stammered “Oh – s-sorry!”

Louis stared at her, doing a double take. It took him a few more seconds to truly process who he was looking at, squinting to focus his bleary drunken vision and trying to see past the foundation and mascara. But he did recognize her, albeit with some difficulty.

“ _Felicite_?”


	18. Chapter 18

She blinked nervously back at him, apparently confused. Louis supposed he must look different – happier than usual, flushed and excited, and with his hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead, wearing a shirt his mother disapproved of. But then suddenly she seemed to recognize him too – her expression went from puzzlement to horror, lipstick-coated mouth opening wide. He reached out to grab her shoulder, and she turned around and bolted into the crowd, staggering on the heels which obviously weren’t hers, but still, she wasn’t drunk, and she had a head start.

Open-mouthed, Louis watched her for a moment until she’d almost vanished out of sight. His reactions were dulled by the alcohol. It was only when her enormous hair had almost disappeared from view that he took off after her, leaving the surprised Harry far behind, shoving through the crowd, giving chase. His little sister was in a club, covered in so much make-up it was astonishing she could still move her face, which meant that their mother hadn’t a clue where she was. Louis was drunk and dizzy, but he still knew that this spelt trouble.

Lunging past a couple who stood with lips locked in a smarmy embrace, dodging around a girl with a monobrow and a short skirt, almost running into a tall man in a trench coat, Louis struggled to keep his eye on his little sister, scared to lose her. He might have been less worried if she hadn’t been running, clearly desperate to get away from him. Apparently, she was afraid of his reaction to meeting her in a club, covered in make-up and dressed like a girl five years her senior – and if she was scared of what he would say to finding her this way, then that wasn’t good news. Louis wasn’t a judgemental brother. Something majorly dodgy had to be going on if the sight of him had inspired such panic in her.

Muttering an “excuse me” with a tongue which felt thick and clumsy, Louis slid past a group of dancing people, tripped over someone’s shoes which they’d left abandoned in the middle of the dance floor, as if this was a modern remake of Cinderella and he was so drunk he was seeing double (which he wasn’t), and almost pushed straight past the little gaggle of girls before he did a double take and it registered that they were all too short to be old enough to come in – and behind all the foundation and eyeliner, their faces were young. It was the same thing he’d noticed in Felicite – they had attempted to hide themselves behind make-up masks, but if you looked a little closely, you could see that they were just little girls again, playing at being grown up, looking like they’d borrowed Mummy’s make-up.

Felicite had never borrowed her mother’s make-up. Jay didn’t tend to wear a lot of it, and she’d always had very strong opinions on little girls wearing make-up. Even Lottie wasn’t supposed to wear it, and she was at the age where you’d have been expecting her to wear it.

Louis’ head was spinning, his mind running far faster than his feet in his drunken state. Shaking his head, he skidded to a halt and spent several seconds studying the scene before him, trying to process what was going on, piecing his disjointed thoughts into a jigsaw that would spell out a conclusion which made sense. His little sister was standing with a group of girls her age who were all wearing hardly any clothes and too much make-up with hairstyles that seemed too sophisticated for their ages. As he stared at them, they all looked insolently back at him, identical expressions of disgust on their painted faces.

“Oh, no!” Felicite whimpered, burying her face in her hands at the sight of her brother.

“Fizzy?” Louis demanded. “What the hell’s going on?”

His sister looked pleadingly at the girl closest to her, and as if that anxious glance was some kind of trigger, all six of the other girls immediately stepped in front of her, a human barricade. They all glared at Louis, and he was reminded of a group of snarling Alsatians standing on guard. Still, despite the fact that they all were wearing high heels of various ridiculous heights, Louis was still more than a head taller than even the tallest of them, betraying their young age even if it hadn’t been obvious that underneath the layers of make-up, they were only kids. Squaring up to the closest girl – an obvious bottle blonde with brown roots showing through, her hair scraped into a tight side ponytail that made a vein in her forehead pulse, lipstick inches thick – Louis folded his arms.

“Who’s ‘Fizzy’?” the girl asked crossly. She was chewing gum, and her overpowering minty breath gusted in Louis’ face, making him wrinkle his nose. “Sounds like a Tweenie. We don’t call her that anymore. Sounds stupid. Her name’s ‘Tay’.”

Forgetting the pithy comment he’d been about to make about having always called his sister Fizzy and not being minded to stop because of a few make-up caked little idiots, Louis snorted loudly. “ _Tay_?”

“Yeah,” one of the other girls said proudly. “Fliss-a-tay,” she enunciated, saying the name completely wrong. “Fliss. A. Tay. Tay! See!”

“Yeah, I see,” replied Louis, unimpressed. “Except that’s not how you pronounce her name. And ‘Tay’ sounds stupid.” He looked at his sister. “Is there any particular reason why you’re hanging out with these morons?”

“Is there any particular reason why you’re drunk?” she asked – rather bravely, Louis thought.

For a moment, Louis felt a little bit like a deer in the headlights, before he remembered that he was eighteen, and perfectly entitled to be drunk, whereas she was a thirteen year old girl wearing too much make-up and in a club that she most definitely didn’t have parental permission to be in, so he said importantly, “Because I’m an adult.” Then, childishly, as if to completely disregard the statement he’d just made, “and because I can. Answer the question.”

“They aren’t morons. And you told me not to let mum control me! You said ‘go hang out with those friends – friends don’t have to be parentally approved’. What, so do they have to be approved by my brother instead, now?”

“No,” Louis said. “Of course they don’t. But look around you, Fiz. Is this what you want? I’m happy right now. I’m out with my friends, making an idiot of myself, and I’m a little bit drunk and a little bit tired and I’m _happy._ Looking at you, I don’t see that. It looks to me like you’re trying to get into this group because for some reason you think it’ll _make_ you happy, but really, you seem to be going the wrong way about it. You look like –” he bit his lip, knowing that his drunken thoughts were flying too fast for his equally drunken mouth, and also knowing that in this state, he was struggling to know what to hold back. He didn’t think it would be very helpful in this situation to accidentally accuse his sister of being a slag.

“Listen, you,” one of the girls said. Her hair was so straight and flat that it looked more like cardboard than hair. “She doesn’t have to do anything. She doesn’t have to go with you. She’s our mate, and this is none of your business.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Louis retorted, “I forgot she was your sister, too. Oh, wait. She isn’t. Shut your mouth, sweetheart, the grown-ups are talking.” He promptly decided that he was an obnoxious drunk. Still, it felt nice to see the cocky look slide off the girl’s face. “Felicite, I know I messed up. I need to explain things to you, things I can’t really discuss here. But basically, I grew up. I started coming up with my own opinions, started listening to other people’s. I realized that not everything Mum says is right, or even makes sense. And I started to think for myself, and I started arguing with her, and she didn’t like that. So now she’s thrown me out, and I’m not welcome back at home anymore, because she couldn’t stand the fact that I don’t believe the same things as her anymore.”

“I hate her,” Felicite said fiercely, shocking Louis with the anger in her voice. “I kept asking where you’d gone, asking and asking, because I was worried, and she _shouted_ at me. She told me she’d tried and tried to help you, but you were a lost cause and you’d turned your back on us, and you didn’t care anymore. She said you told her you didn’t want to see us anymore. And I called her a liar because I knew you wouldn’t say that, and she yelled at me, and I said I wanted to speak to you, and she said I couldn’t, because you were gone, and you didn’t want to hear from any of us ever again. And I tried to call you, but she took my phone away. Then she started shouting and told me you were going to hell, and she said I would too if I didn’t stop being so bad! She was treating me like I was _Daisy’s_ age.”

Louis started biting his lip. He felt awful, now; he should have known that his sisters would ask about him, and he ought to have known that his mother would never admit to them that he’d run off with his secret lover, who just so happened to be a) a punk and b) male. She would obviously have lied to them. Daisy and Phoebe were too young to suspect anything, too young to ask difficult questions, and Lottie was old enough and wise enough not to try, but Felicite clearly had decided she wanted answers – and now, faced with the prospect of two of her children rebelling, Jay had become desperate. She’d become angry, and scared, and tried to scare all of her children into not following in Louis’ footsteps.

When Felicite continued, her voice was low and she trembled. “When Dad came home, I told him what she’d said, and he told me I shouldn’t upset her. _‘Don’t call your mother a liar, Felicite,_ ’” she mimicked, “‘ _it’s very disrespectful.’_ He wouldn’t stick up for me, and Lottie wouldn’t stick up for me, and no one would tell me what’s going on, and I’m sick of everyone acting like I’m stupid! I have a mind. I have friends. She can’t treat me like a baby now.”

“She’s not a bad person, Fiz. She’s our mum. She thinks she’s doing the right thing, you know.”

“Yeah, she _thinks_ that. Doesn’t make it any better that she’s doing it all out of ignorance, really, does it?”

“No. It doesn’t. You think I’m not angry? She called me names and threw me out and lied about me to you and the girls, God, Felicite, I’m raging. I’m so angry I can hardly stand it sometimes. But I’m trying to forgive her, because she loves us, and I still love her, and that’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Forgive and forget. Turn the other cheek. I ran from her last time instead, and that was stupid. Trust me, running is the worst decision you can make. How do you think this is gonna end, huh? You can’t stay with this lot forever. You’re too young for her to throw you out – she’ll just keep you in your room again, and watch you like a hawk. C’mon, kid, you’re better than this. You’re smart. You know what she’s like. You have to be smart to work round her. I wasn’t smart enough. Don’t make my mistakes.”

Felicite stared at him, mouth trembling, blinking hard to try and stop herself from crying. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, and he could hear the barely restrained hysteria in her voice.

Louis put an arm round her. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to. I’m the big brother – knowing what to do is _my_ job.”

He never had any idea what he was doing anymore, but why tell her that, why terrify her with the truth? Harry was a constant factor in his life, a fixed point, like the magnetic force guiding his moral compass – but that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel the paralysing terror of having to be an adult. For all his life, he’d been pushed in the direction his parents wanted him to go in, and having his own mind was terrifying. But it was a good kind of fear – and he’d rather be scared and free than trapped, safe in cotton wool, guided like a puppet on strings that, without Harry’s help, he could never have cut.

“I can’t make you come with me. Do you want to stay here, with these girls? Because I don’t think they’re really your friends, you know. You’ve had to change to fit in with them, and change should come about because you want it, not because you feel like you have to do it to be accepted. I only just figured that out. I haven’t changed for mum, or for Harry; I changed for me. I’m not going to make you change if this is who you really are. Is it?”

She looked unsure. Stared at her feet, fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt, petrified into silence. Louis could sympathise. Breaking free of the mould set by your parents was one thing; figuring out what shape you were going to mould yourself into now that you had your own choice was completely another. It was about rediscovering who you were, who you _really_ were rather than who you were supposed to be, and at least Louis had had a starting point. He’d known that he had to begin with who he’d fallen in love with. His sister had nothing like that to begin with – she just had a head full of confusion and feet covered in blisters from uncomfortable shoes, and a clique of girls who weren’t as wonderful and mature as she’d believed them to be.

“You keep going on about all this crap,” sneered a girl with dark hair. “About how she gets to choose, it’s her decision. Well she’s already chosen. She chose us!”

“Yeah,” the blonde ponytail girl said. “This _is_ who she is!”

“No, it isn’t.” Felicite took a step away from her, shaking her head in disgust. “What am I doing? Look at me. Look at _you._ You’re orange, and your lipstick looks like jam.” She was speaking slowly, looking like she was having some kind of epiphany, relief dawning on her like sunrise slowly creeping across her face. “None of our clothes fit, and my shoes pinch. We don’t look cool. We don’t look older. We look like five year olds in face paint.”

“Maybe _you_ do,” someone muttered sullenly. “We look great.”

“There! I heard that! You kept doing it earlier, too, laughing behind my back, making me look like an idiot and telling me I looked great to my face, when all of you look stupid, _all of_ you! And you all just laugh at each other and think you’re all wonderful. You’re two-faced. You’re horrible. You’re all the same, so boring, and you kept turning your noses up at me every time I tried to do things differently to you. You’re worse than my mum, you are, making me think this was what I had to do to feel like I belonged somewhere, like I was someone important. This is pathetic.”

“ _Tay_!” squealed one of the others in protest. Her shrill voice made Louis cringe. “Stop it!”

“That’s not her name,” Louis snapped. He’d completely had it with these whiny brats; he wanted to throw something at them. “She’s the one making this decision, you can’t make it for her.”

“Neither can you!”

“I’m not trying to!” He was drunk. He was outraged. He wasn’t in control of himself, and somewhere in the back of his mind was the echo of Harry’s reminder that yelling at stupid people doesn’t make them any less stupid, but his mind was fuzzy and he wanted to shake all of these silly little girls one by one, and he didn’t care one bit about turning the other cheek or loving your enemy or anything like that – he just cared about how idiotic they all were, and wondered whether he could shake it out of them. Not that he ever would. But it was a nice thought.

Maybe his sister recognized how close he was to exploding, because she grabbed his arm and said pleadingly, “Louis, can we go now?” Her eyes were wide, expecting him to make the decision, _needing_ him to make the decision.

Just as Harry was Louis’ leading light, now Louis had to be his sister’s. He nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

His arm was still around her. They turned around, and had walked a couple of steps before another annoying voice called after them.

“Oi! Those are my shoes!”

Felicite looked down at the uncomfortable heels she was wearing, pulled a face, and then kicked them off before picking them up and shoving them into the blonde girl’s arms. “You can have them back,” she said. “I’d rather be able to walk down the street _without_ breaking my ankle, thanks.”

They walked away, neither of them speaking until they were definitely out of earshot. Then, Louis said quietly, “Well done.”

“This is horrible,” she whispered. “They were awful friends, but they were the only ones I had. What am I going to do now?”

“Start again,” Louis told her. “Find some better ones. You go to a big school. Surely not _everyone_ there can be an idiot.”

Felicite smiled wanly. “Thanks, Louis. ...Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What exactly did you do to make Mum so angry that she threw you out?”

Louis hesitated. “That’s...not really my story to tell. I need some help explaining it. Can you wait until we get home? I know someone who can put it into far better words than I can.”

“Are you sure? That was quite some speech you made back there. I was impressed.”

“I learnt from the best,” said Louis softly, and then Harry appeared from behind a couple obliviously slow-dancing to a rock song, his eyes worried. He spotted Louis, exhaled in relief, and then made a beeline for him, grinning with his mouth and his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to slip his arm around Louis’ waist. If he was surprised to see Felicite tucked underneath Louis’ arm, he didn’t show it. “I wondered where you’d disappeared off to. Is everything okay? I thought I heard you shouting, but I lost you in the crowd.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Louis replied. He felt like he was on some weird kind of high. He’d defended his sister in the way that Harry defended him. He’d got his point across. Fair enough, he’d been a little hot-tempered about it, but he’d won the fight – and maybe it was against a group of teenage girls only two or three years into high school, but it was the first argument he’d had without Harry watching his back, and he felt ridiculously proud of the accomplishment. Later, when they were alone, curled up together in Harry’s bed, fingers linked together, having a hushed conversation in the darkness with their foreheads pressed together, he’d tell him about it. How strong he’d felt, standing up for his sister. How his heart had hammered as he leapt to her defence. How lovely it was to be able to help someone the way Harry had helped him.

Felicite was shaking beside him, her mouth gaping wide open like she was about to swallow the both of them, and that was when Louis remembered that he still hadn’t gotten an explanation for her weird fascination with Harry. Also, that she didn’t know that he and Harry were a couple yet. He had a great deal of explaining to do, it would seem.

“Harry, can we head home? Felicite needs cleaning up before we take her back home, and we have some...things that we need to tell her.”

“Okay, sure,” Harry said easily. “Shall we go?” He gave Louis’ waist an encouraging squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m ready when you are, but shouldn’t we tell the others we’re leaving? They might start looking for us.”

“Liam went home a while ago. He said he was tired. I think he wanted to get away from all the couples,” Harry said with amusement.

That sounded about right. Liam had been teasing Louis all night about how “disgustingly couple-y” he and Harry were.

“What about Niall and Zayn?”

Harry’s smirk became a fully-blown grin, filled with mischief. “Oh, I don’t think they care. They’ve got some business of their own to take care of.” And he pointed across the room, to where Louis could just about see the back of Niall’s blond head.

“Oh,” Louis said, cheeks flooding pink. “Ah. I see.”

“Come on.” Harry grabbed his hand, and hauled him and Felicite towards the exit, struggling not to laugh at Louis’ embarrassment. He was too used to that kind of scenario for it to have affected him.

On the other side of the room, slammed up against the wall, Zayn and Niall were too busily entwined in the throes of an enormous, drunken snog to notice that Harry and Louis had left.

~*~

Since Felicite had no shoes now, and was wearing only a pair of extremely holey tights (and yes, Louis _did_ feel rather tempted to make a pun about ‘holy tights’, but he thought that might be kind of disrespectful and also not particularly funny) Louis had had to lend her his. Harry had tried to be chivalrous to both of them by nobly insisting that she wore his, making her blush and stammer, but his feet were too big, so she’d ended up wearing Louis’. Padding along the street, Louis felt extremely glad that he’d decided to wear socks.

They were mostly silent as they walked home, aside from the occasional comment from Harry as he tried to put Louis' sister at ease with very little success. Every time Harry spoke, she would give a little start and stare at him, and if he tried speaking directly to her, she would turn into a scarlet, stammering wreck. Harry gave up eventually. Louis couldn't bring himself to be annoyed; it wasn't as if his sister was deliberately being awkward, she was just genuinely crippled with shyness in Harry's presence.

Harry, however, didn't know Felicite as well as Louis did and seemed to be taking it to heart, looking decidedly downcast the further they walked in silence. Ideally, Louis would have held his hand to reassure him, but he figured there were subtler ways to come out to his sister that were likelier to end well, so he pretended not to notice Harry's outstretched hand, and felt pretty horrible about it. Especially after all his speeches about not being ashamed of being seen with Harry, to now be effectively shunning him because his sister was around...well, no wonder Harry seemed dejected.

They approached Harry's house in silence. He unlocked the door and Felicite immediately kicked off Louis' shoes, a force of habit because in her own home, she had to do just that the moment she stepped over the threshold. Then, Harry shut the door behind them and they all stood in the quiet hallway, nobody speaking. Nobody was home.

"I've got some makeup remover upstairs. If you wanna, y'know...take some of that off," Harry muttered, gesturing at his face. He seemed subdued, which was rarely a good sign in Louis' experience.

"Thanks," mumbled Felicite, eyes glued to the ground, and she took off, hurrying upstairs despite having no idea where the makeup remover actually was.

"Try the bathroom," Harry called after her, then as she vanished, he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. "What did I do?" he asked bitterly. "She won't even look at me. _You_ wouldn't even look at me before. It's like I'm back at square one."

"Don't be daft. The only reason I wasn't cuddling up to you like usual is because Mum hasn't told her I'm pansexual. She doesn't know about us yet. I didn't want to freak her out. Mum doesn't exactly open our minds to sexuality and all that; chances are if we'd started cosying up together out of the blue without warning her first, she'd be shocked. Maybe even scared. I handled things badly with Mum - I don't want to lose Fizzy, too."

"What if she doesn't accept it either? I make her uncomfortable already, it's not exactly hard to tell."

Turning away from him, Harry started to walk towards the kitchen, but Louis caught his sleeve and pulled him back, spinning him around before he grabbed him by the waist and backed him up against the wall, standing on his toes to make up for the few inches of height that was to Harry's advantage, and kissed him.

"Oi. Stop that," he ordered. "If she doesn't like it, she can turn around and walk right out of this house. You hear me? I’ll slam the door behind her. I’m tired of trying to please people. No matter what you do, you can never please anyone, so we might as well piss off as many people as humanly possible instead, right?” He smiled, lifted Harry’s chin with one finger, and Harry bravely tried to smile back but Louis could see the struggle in his eyes, the difficulty to come to terms with the possibility that Felicite might turn on them as well.

“All right,” Harry said softly.

“No, it’s not. Of course it’s not. We shouldn’t have to worry about this – about how people are gonna react to us, we’re doing nothing wrong, we never have. But I want you to know that you’re more important to me than them, now. More important than what people think about us. More important than anything. But we’ve been through this and complaining about it changes nothing. If we can win my little sister round we’re one step closer to obliterating all of this homophobic crap. I love you, you know that? Be brave for me. Cos if there’s one thing that always keeps me going through the giant shit-cloud that is life, it’s knowing that I’ve got to be brave for you.”

Eyes blazing, Harry lurched forward and Louis stepped back in surprise, but then Harry caught him by the waist and shoved him back against the wall, roughly but taking care not to make Louis bang his head, and then he leaned over him, taking full advantage of his superior height and kissed Louis, hard, long fingers tangling in the caramel strands of his hair, one hand stroking his face, tip of his nose pressing against Louis’ cheek. It was the kind of kiss that they tended to have in the middle of the night whilst watching movies on the lowest possible volume at 2am, determined not to wake Harry’s parents. The kind of kiss that they’d had one night when they’d sneaked into the garden way past bedtime, in pyjamas and with no shoes on, and done a crazy kind of two-step on the lawn, studded with dewdrops like a hundred thousand diamonds grated into glitter across the carpet of green, slow-dancing around the garden with their hands on each other’s waists. The kind of kiss Harry pressed onto Louis’ forehead when they woke up in the morning, lying in bed together, a mess of long limbs and knotted hair and hands that pulled each other close but never seemed close enough and their morning breath made proper kisses impractical and kind of nasty. It was like a combination of their first kiss and their last; breathless and surprised, fresh, like a new beginning, but also familiar and well worn and a little bit desperate, as if they were each taking their dying breaths and this kiss could not wait, nothing could wait, because they were candles about to be blown out and they had to share their final breaths with each other before everything became nothing.

Gasping, Louis was the first to break the kiss, leaning away with a breathless laugh. “Okay, okay, don’t break me!” His hands started on Harry’s shoulders, sliding down his tattooed arms, momentarily holding his cobwebbed elbows before moving down to his wrists, and then Louis took hold of his hands and smiled fondly at him.

Harry laughed quietly back at him. “Sorry.” He reached forward to brush a stray piece of hair out of Louis’ eyes, and then they heard a sharp intake of breath and turned around to find Felicite staring at them, the majority of the make-up wiped off her face, staring at them and clutching Louis’ shoes with white-knuckled hands.

“Hey, kid.” Louis’ throat was dry, but he kept his voice admirably steady, meeting her confused gaze without flinching. “Feel better?”

She nodded, licking her lips, and then her stare dropped to their joined hands.

Louis made the decision rather quickly to talk to his sister alone; as Harry had quite correctly pointed out, he intimidated her. He didn’t want to make this any harder by having someone around who made Felicite nervous. That wouldn’t make trying to circumvent barriers of discriminatory thinking and ignorance that had been years in the making any easier. At least Louis had had a _reason_ to stop being small-minded – he had fallen for Harry, and how could he have continued to preach against something which he was now a part of? But his sister had no reason to stop thinking the way she did, other than decency, and somehow he didn’t think she would perceive it that way.

“Harry, can I, uh...we need a moment. Is there anywhere we can talk?”

“Sure, ba – yeah. My room’s free, if you don’t mind the mess. I’ll stay down here, make a cup of tea, do you guys want anything?”

“Please. Mi –”

“Milk, three sugars,” Harry finished, “got it.” Then he beamed, a huge grin lighting up his whole face like he was an angel and he’d eaten his own halo. He _glowed,_ pretty and pleased with himself to have remembered this small detail so well, still a tiny bit drunk, cheeks red. He reminded Louis of the white roses in the Red Queen’s garden from Alice In Wonderland; white underneath but vivid scarlet on top, painted over to suit the monarch’s whims, and he could just imagine a pixie-like child painting that blush onto Harry’s pale cheeks.

“Thanks, babe,” Louis whispered, hopefully too softly for his little sister to hear, and then he gestured for her to take the lead. Head bowed to avoid looking at Harry, she hurried past and started running up the stairs, making very little noise in her shoeless state, before disappearing. Louis ran his hand down Harry’s arm to bolster his courage. He took a deep breath.

“It’ll be fine,” Harry promised. Of course, he couldn’t know that, he probably didn’t believe it, but Louis needed him to pretend that he did, and his mouth and eyes both seemed sincere. “Just remember – don’t yell at her if she says ignorant things, it isn’t her fault. Break it to her gently. It’ll all be okay.”

“I hope so.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Then Louis went upstairs.

~*~

 

Harry’s room kind of _was_ amess. His and Louis’ clothes were strewn over the floor, the outfit that Louis had tried on earlier that evening lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. Lonely single shoes were scattered haphazardly across the room like Cinderella meets the hall of mirrors – if Cinderella’s glass slipper had been a collection of different coloured Converse, Doc Martens, espadrilles, and Supras. Some of them were small and quite flimsy looking, made of canvas; those were Louis’, whereas Harry’s were larger, bulky and heavy. Rather like their outward appearances in general, really. Harry looked intimidating and Louis looked fragile, but neither of them were quite what they seemed to be.

Felicite sat cautiously on the edge of Harry’s bed, carefully placing Louis’ shoes down in a pair on the floor. Louis walked over to her, kicking both his and Harry’s boxers underneath the bed and hoping she hadn’t caught on to whose they were, and sat down. The duvet was a rumpled heap, all bunched up so it looked rather like an animal was curled up asleep underneath it. Louis could smell sex and Lynx and the bacon sandwiches they’d eaten yesterday while they snuggled sleepily up in Harry’s bed, watching a horror movie that lacked scariness to an extent that it ended up seeming more like a comedy. He could also smell Harry’s hair, and shampoo, and his own hairspray that he used to keep his quiff in place. The room didn’t smell like Harry, nor did it smell like Louis; it smelt of _them._ The both of them, together, a jumble of HarryandLouis and LouisandHarry that was barely distinguishable as any sort of separate aroma. Louis wondered if his sister had noticed it. 

She kept glancing around her, looking a little bit awestruck. Her eyes flitted from the piles of clothes on the floor to the mess of papers on Harry’s desks to his jewellery hanging off the back of his chair, his oversized bean-bags, the white rug that Louis liked to stand on in the morning when he’d just crawled out of bed and he was shivering and he wanted something soft and warm to put his toes on. She gazed at the posters of the bands that Louis knew quite well know, bands whose songs he could recognize when Harry played them and the choruses of which he could sing along to (Pierce The Veil, Motionless in White, The Cancer Bats). She seemed to be taken aback by the fact that Harry’s room wasn’t dripping in black and didn’t look like it had been decorated by an explosion of an oil rig. Louis watched her staring around her in wonder and realized that she was where he had been, once, and now he was looking at Harry’s room with brand new eyes that understood the stories behind everything, rather than simply just _looking_ at it all.

The dream catchers Harry hung from the ceiling because his grandmother had been superstitious and told him they would protect him from bad dreams, and he was tired of suffering from nightmares of the torment he’d first received at school when he unveiled his new style, before he’d taught them all to leave him well alone. The drawings on his desk that he had originally done for his art class before he walked out and refused to go back because the teacher refused to stop goading him about his sexuality being evident from his ‘girly drawings’. The posters on the walls of the bands he’d listened to with the volume turned up so he didn’t have to hear the comments people yelled after him in the streets. Harry’s room was the epilogue of his story, a little summary of him, but unless you’d read the book beforehand it would make no sense at all.

That didn’t stop it being so fascinating.

“It’s different to how I imagined,” Felicite said softly. “I kind of thought it’d be...darker.”

“So did I,” Louis admitted, and they exchanged sheepish grins.

“Have you been staying here ever since Mum told you to leave?”

“Yeah, and a couple of times before that. I feel welcomed here. His parents are lovely and they don’t judge, they trust him and treat him like an adult. They don’t act like I’m just some kid staying over at their house; they talk to me like they actually care what I’m saying, because they do. I don’t know. I feel like here, I can be whoever or whatever and nobody would care. Not because they don’t care about _me,_ but because they don’t care about what I do to _be_ me, if you get what I’m saying.”

She nodded seriously. “They don’t mind you staying here?”

“They don’t seem to. They seem to like me being here. He doesn’t have a lot of friends. People avoid him, you see.”

“Why did Mum throw you out?”

He hadn’t been expecting that question to fly out so suddenly after all the normal, mundane ones. It threw him off guard. Blinking, Louis opened his mouth to try and say something else with at least some faint vestige of intelligence, but all he managed was a vague noise that sounded rather like a huff.

“Oh, and before you tell me, just remember: don’t patronize me. I’m not as stupid as everyone acts like I am, and I’m listening, and nobody will tell me what on earth is going on anymore and I’m not happy. Give it to me straight, Louis.”

Louis snorted. “Poor choice of words, there...”

She tilted her head to one side. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“You know Harry’s gay.”

“Of course I know he’s gay, you think that small fact would have escaped my notice? I followed him around for _weeks_ , Lou, and he’s not exactly subtle about it –”

“That’s half the reason Mum hates him in the first place. That and the fact that she’s been convinced since the start that he was going to ‘turn me gay’, and she hates the way he dresses, and his attitude towards God. I used to feel the same way. The fact is, I’m still not completely happy with some of the ways he thinks about God, I don’t agree with all of his opinions, I don’t like all of his music. I think some of his clothes are hideous. I don’t always like the same stuff as him and he hates a lot of the stuff I like. But he’s a beautiful person, you know? He walks into a room, and everyone’s too busy giving him dirty looks to see how amazing he is, because all they see is that he’s different. And who _isn’t_ different, really? Everyone is, he’s just a more noticeable kind of different. But he watches appalling movies and puts eyeliner on every morning because he feels insecure without it, and he’s been slandered for years but won’t fight back, because he’s better than everyone, but he doesn’t think so. He’s an idiot and he’s goofy and he makes a lot of mistakes and he’s the missing piece of my jigsaw puzzle and to cut a long story short, I’m in love with him, Fiz.”

Felicite stared at him.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with him. He’s my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for several months now. Probably close to five.”

“No.” She shook her head frantically, burying her face in her hands. “No, no, no, no, no, no –”

“Please, Felicite, don’t be like Mum. Don’t hate me straight away because of this, come on, you gotta hear me out –” he gently touched her on the back, and she recoiled from him, shuffling down to the far end of the bed.

“ _No_!” she shrieked. “It’s not fair! It’s not _fair_ , you can’t be in love with him, he can’t be _your_ boyfriend!”

“I’m really sorry, I know this is hard for – wait. What?” Louis stared at her. “What do you mean, he can’t be _my_ boyfriend?”

She was crying properly now, to his shock, eyes like swimming pools, not just due to the bright, almost artificially blue colour of them but because they were round and wet and he felt like he was going to drown in them. He’d never liked swimming pools in the first place.

“It’s not fair! I can’t have him anyway, because he’s gay, and now – now _you_! Why did it have to be you? You’re my brother! It’s not fair, it’s not fair, he’ll never go out with me because he’s gay and now he’s going out with _you_!”

“Felicite, what are you _talking_ about?”

“You _KNOW_ I like him!” she shrieked. “How could you do this to me? You’re my _brother_ and I’ve liked him way longer than you and I saw him _first_!”

Louis was completely bewildered. He felt like he’d fallen into some stupid pre-teen movie about a glossy posse of polished Disney stars squealing about relationship drama they were five years too young or too old to experience. He’d never heard anyone in his life fight over someone stealing someone else’s boyfriend or girlfriend – he supposed it was a girl thing – but now he was being accused of stealing someone from his sister who she’d never even spoken to and didn’t even have the right sexual orientation to have been hers in the first place, and apparently he was in the wrong because she _liked_ him first? Louis had stood up in alarm but he abruptly sat back down, exhausted.

The bedroom door burst open and Harry came rushing in, the sleeves of his black sweater rolled up past the elbows to show off his tattoos, a teaspoon in one hand, wearing a red and white checked apron with a ruffled hem. Alarmed, he ran over to Louis, grabbed him like he expected something awful to happen, and then turned to stare at Felicite, who was crying profusely and looking kind of scary. Harry abruptly stepped back, not well equipped to deal with crying little sisters, since he’d never had a younger sibling and his own sister wasn’t much prone to crying (Gemma had never been a crier, and now she was far too tough to cry at anything that most girls her age cried at anyway, like stress or relationship problems or money worries; the only thing Harry ever remembered seeing his own sister cry over was Mufasa’s death in The Lion King).

The sight of him made Felicite cry even harder.

“Jesus,” Harry said, dropping the spoon, then, “I told you to break it to her _gently_!”

“I did!” Louis replied indignantly, and then Felicite grabbed hold of him and started sobbing messily into his shoulder, and he hesitated a split second before worriedly patting her on the back. He was kind of out of his depth.

“Well, I’ve seen some pretty wild reactions to revealing people’s sexuality in my time, but I never saw someone cry. Is it the shock, or did she say something ignorant and misinformed that made you yell at her?” asked Harry interestedly, but not unkindly, sitting beside Louis on the bed.

She sat bolt upright. “Oh, you can just _shut up_!” she said furiously, glaring right at Harry and not seeming to either notice or care that her face was kind of a mess. It would have been a bit disgusting if they hadn’t both been too taken aback by her vehemence to care much about how hard she’d been crying.

“Uh,” Harry said.

“You know, I’ve been laughed at for _months_ for liking you! All the girls at school have got crushes on other boys in our year at the boys’ school, or occasionally in the year above – or some of them have celebrity crushes, on Justin Bieber or Conor Maynard or whoever. You know who my celebrity crush is? It’s _you_ ,” she hissed. “It’s _always_ been you. Everyone in town knows who you are, everybody knows your name. And they always told me horrible stories about you, and I wanted to see if it was true, so I started following you around, but you _weren’t_ horrible at all. You were nice. And I liked you. And when I told everyone that, they laughed or said rude things or told me I was making it up, and I knew I wasn’t, so I stopped talking to them. I’m not a liar. I won’t be called one. Except then I had no friends, and Mum stopped me going out, and I _still_ liked you. I’ve liked you for months and months and months, since before Louis went to Bible Camp for the summer, and now he comes back and now _he’s your boyfriend_!” Outraged, Felicite got to her feet, yanking herself away from Louis. “You _stole_ him. Except he wasn’t ever mine, and he’s gay, and now he’s in love with you and Mum’s always liked you better than me and it’s not _fair_!” She stamped her bare foot. “Nothing’s ever _fair_.”

“Why were you with those girls, Felicite?” Louis asked quietly.

“Because they told me they could get me a boyfriend. They said they didn’t care if I was a liar and they said they could find someone else and I wouldn’t care about him anymore. I don’t _want_ to care. It’s all stupid.” She buried her face in her hands.

Harry slid off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of her. He waited for a minute or so, Felicite occasionally peeping through her fingers and pretending not to see him there, acting like she couldn’t see him. But eventually, with a shaky sigh, she took her hands away, and Harry passed her a tissue and she wiped miserably at her eyes and nose until she looked a lot less distraught (and wet) and simply looked doleful. There was also something about her expression akin to shame, as if she realized she had made somewhat of a spectacle of herself and wanted to take it back. She looked down at Harry, her mouth pushed into a pout, and then stared at the floor – but then she wrenched her gaze back upwards again, determined to look him in the eye. She definitely had guts, Louis had to respect that. Not only had she just poured out all of her feelings for someone who would never like her back in that way, right to his face, but she had also said all of it in front of her brother, who was dating said person, and openly admitted to being angry and jealous about it. Louis admired her for it. Her bravery was something that he’d never expected to see from her, never had reason to believe that she had.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I can’t pretend that I’m ever going to reciprocate your feelings for me, because I’m really sorry, but I won’t. Ever. I’m comfortable in my sexuality, I know exactly who and what I am. And this is kinda gonna gross you out, but...I’m in love with your brother.” Felicite shakily laughed, but it sounded rather like an extremely distorted whimper. “Sounds weird, I know. I have no idea how _that_ happened – but it did, and a whole lot of people don’t like it, you included, I guess. I won’t ever date you, I’m afraid, although you’d probably think that was a good thing if you’d ever had the misfortune of going out with me.” Another wobbly laugh from Felicite as she wiped another tear off her cheek. “But we could still be friends, you know. I don’t have a lot of them. Maybe I can add you to the list?” Harry was good at amending his impression, looking just the right mixture of hopefulness mixed with pleading.

She looked like she was contemplating the idea.

“Your Mum threw Louis out of the house because of this. I know it’s hard to get your head around, but I think your brother could really do with having you support him in this. And once we’re friends, I’m sure you’ll get over me pretty quickly. I’m a bit of an idiot.”

“I don’t know if I can get over you,” she admitted in a small voice. “I really, really like you, you know.”

“I know,” he said sympathetically. “It must run in your family, ‘cause for some odd reason, Louis seems to, too. Although your mother despises me. That kind of scuppers that theory. But you know, you don’t have to stop liking me. I can’t do anything with you to make you happy; even if I had the inclination, it wouldn’t be right, you’re too young. I know how much people hate hearing that, trust me, I do too. But it’s true.”

“You don’t mind if I hang out with you guys? Really? I don’t have many friends. Would it really be okay if I go out with all of you sometime?”

“Of course it would! I’m not cool. Zayn likes to pretend he’s cool, don’t tell him I said this – but he’s not cool.

He grinned at her, and she smiled tentatively back – then she threw her arms around him and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulders and breathing out, slowly, like all the tension was melting out of her with that long, drawn-out breath.

“Thanks, Harry,” she mumbled.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart.”

~*~

 

They walked Felicite home because Louis didn’t want her to go home in the dark, and helped her to slip in unnoticed through the back door, a trick Louis had secretly mastered years back (it was all about easing the handle down and then jerking it sharply up, then slowly opening the door so that the ancient hinges didn’t squeak. Doubtlessly they looked to be an odd bunch; a lanky boy with wild curly hair and tattooed arms, his lithe, compact companion, their hands interlocked, and always a few steps ahead of them so she didn’t have to see came Felicite, a new spring in her step. Her head was still slightly bowed, she still seemed a little forlorn, but she wasn’t so beaten down, now. The hairspray had been combed out of her hair, leaving it to fall thickly and silkily down her back. Every last trace of make-up had been helpfully wiped away by Harry’s expert hands. Her skirt had been rolled down to the sort of length that Jay would have approved of and she was wearing one of Louis’ cardigans buttoned up to disguise the fact that her shirt was a bit too thin and clingy to be appropriate. This was a cover-up operation now, but Louis had been hiding things from his mother for long enough to become reasonably good at it.

When they reached the house and said goodbye to Felicite, it was quickly and quietly, without much time for exchanging pleasantries. The threat of discovery from Louis’ mother once again hung over them, grim and tense, the air of deception thick in the air – but Louis still took the time to hug his little sister hard as she stood on her toes on the back doorstep. Trying to be taller, look older, still feeling inadequate, apparently. He wished she wouldn’t. He kissed her on the cheek, a silent thank you that he knew would have embarrassed her if he’d said it aloud in front of Harry, and then she waved shyly at Harry himself. Giving her his charming metal-studded smile, he waved back, a camp little wiggle of his long fingers intended to make her laugh. Apparently, playing up to his role of being too gay to look at her twice made Felicite feel far more comfortable about the whole thing, and Harry acted it all out beautifully, limp wrists and all, without making anything seem contrived. He shamelessly mocked the gay stereotype but at the same time made it seem like he wasn’t making fun, and Louis, who was aware that some of his mannerisms and habits were often seen as being ‘a bit gay’, appreciated that.

Felicite giggled obligingly at his antics, then Louis demonstrated his knack of silently opening the door beautifully. He had rarely ever had cause to use the trick, but in his childhood, he’d won many games of hide and seek that way, with his ability to sneak back into the house without anyone hearing. Now, he would save his sister from getting into trouble with it. Admittedly, he felt a little bad for using the talent in this slightly dishonest manner, but what was the kinder thing to do, save Felicite from getting into trouble by letting her in, or have Jay rip all three of them to shreds when she realized that they had all effectively spent the evening together? That question didn’t even deserve an answer, really.

His sister disappeared into the house and Louis closed the door behind her, breathing out in relief. His breath turned to smoke in the chilly air, reminding him of the cigarettes Zayn had smoked out of the window of Harry’s house a few nights ago because it was too cold for Anne’s maternal instincts to allow her to banish him to the front porch while he smoked, but her hatred for the smell of cigarettes wouldn’t allow her to let him smoke properly indoors. Louis breathed out again, watching the mist of his breath paint the air, remembering how he and his sisters used to play at being dragons in cold weather when they were younger, how he used to try and blow smoke rings and he’d never quite succeeded. He tried now, pursing his lips into a pout, huffing and puffing and looking distinctly like a goldfish. After a moment of confusion, Harry laughed quietly at him, then blew a perfect, rounded smoke ring. Louis pulled a face.

“That’s not fair. I hate you. You’re good at everything.”

“Not everything. And you love me.” Harry gave Louis a lopsided smirk like Edward Cullen (all right, so he’d read Twilight, maybe just out of curiosity, and had to admit that there was something kind of cute about the fictional version, although he wasn’t sure how he could think that, what with him being pansexual and all). But it disappeared rather quickly, and he looked a bit worried. Anxiously fiddling with one of his many necklaces, turning a dangling silver charm over and over in his fingertips, he asked, “Don’t you?” And he looked genuinely worried. Like he believed there was a chance Louis was going to say no. It was quite insulting, really, that he still doubted him after all this time.

But Louis didn’t tell him that it was kind of a bit disappointing to him, that for some reason there could be the faintest idea in Harry’s head that maybe Louis didn’t really love him. That maybe there was a speck, a molecule, an atom of Louis’ being that didn’t care more about Harry than he cared about his family or himself or God or anyone, or all of those things put together. That Harry didn’t realize that the whole world would fall to ruin, and bring the universe crashing down with it, if Louis’ world was disrupted in its orbit for one second. Somehow, Harry was his sun, his moon, his earth, his sea, his sky, his everything – but unlike most people who meant everything to someone, apparently he still seemed to be unaware of it.

Yet something inside Louis suggested to him that voicing all of these sentiments would ruin them. If he told Harry that the sun rose when he opened his raspberry mouth and set when he closed it, that the stars to light his darkness came from Harry’s eyes, that every breath Harry took might as well have been the Hallelujah chorus for how beautiful it was to him, and that every beat of Harry’s heart against his ear when he rested his head on Harry’s chest was like the melody of his favourite song, then the meaning behind all of those things would be lost. There are some things that are ruined when spoken aloud, that can be completely true and yet sound false and pretentious when given a voice, and all of these emotions seemed to fit the bill. So he didn’t say any of it.

He was still standing on the back doorstep of his mother’s house, where he’d said goodbye to Felicite. Harry was a little lower in level, standing on the ground, still taller than him, so Louis stood on his toes and grabbed Harry by the front of his jumper. His sleeves were still rolled up and Louis could see the goosebumps on his skin, the fine hairs standing on end, his tattoos looking like mere hazy shapes in the night. Unreadable words, an indistinguishable flower, everything lost in the night – identity, meaning, all of it. But Harry wasn’t lost in the night. Harry was indomitably omnipresent, never leaving him, never diminishing. Louis had no breath left to make smoke rings with even if he’d known how, and if this had been a movie or a cartoon, he might have contorted his lips to blow out a wobbly, misty approximation of a heart.

He kissed Harry on the mouth instead.

So here he was, kissing the love of his life on his mother’s doorstep, the boy he’d been forbidden to be with and who he couldn’t imagine being away from, but this didn’t feel like a slap in the face, like he was smugly brandishing his disobedience under his mother’s nose. He hadn’t kissed Harry on this spot to spite his mother, although she probably deserved it. No, the only reason he’d kissed Harry Styles in his old back garden after sneaking his little sister home from a club and back home without his mother being any the wiser was because at that precise moment in time Harry Styles deserved to be kissed. And Louis wanted to kiss him.

He wondered whether Niall and Zayn were kissing right now. Or having sex. He wondered whether his mother was wondering the same thing about him and Louis and it made him smile, and he sort of wished she knew. Again, not because he wanted to show off about it, or prove that he honestly didn’t care about what she thought, but because even though she was angry with him and thought he’d done something disgusted and wrong, she was his mother, and he was more ecstatically happy than he’d ever been, and it had been worth all the fighting and lies and misery all for this moment, because he was finally happy with his life, content with who he was and the direction his life was taking and everything was so amazing he could have cried – and he was _happy,_ and he thought she might want to know.


	19. Chapter Nineteen - Part A

Louis stood behind the counter of the local bakery, with his hairnet on, wearing a white coat so that he looked like he’d just walked out of a science lab. The uniform was the main downside to working here; apart from that, he enjoyed the job immensely. When Harry had first suggested that he try for the job working in the little shop, selling buns and cakes and cute little loaves of unprocessed thick-crusted bread to cute old ladies or cooing toddlers who left the shop with sticky hands, Louis hadn’t been so sure. He didn’t think it would do his stomach much good, for starters, although Harry insisted that he loved Louis’ ‘curves’ (“you make me sound like Betty bloody Boop or something,” Louis grumbled) and he could eat as much cake as he liked and still be the sexiest person in the room. For another thing, he couldn’t bake. He’d tried to bake Anne a cake to thank her for letting him stay for so long, and ended up turning the kitchen into the site of a flour-bomb explosion and raw cake mixture inexplicably ended up everywhere, even on the kitchen door-handle and splattered up the window. She’d been very nice about it, and he and Harry had cleaned the kitchen scrupulously, but during tea that night she had gently suggested that perhaps Louis didn’t do any more cooking in the house any more, and he had embarrassedly agreed.

However, Harry had managed to talk him into it, and eventually Louis ended up going for the job interview and managed to land himself a job upon the main counter with ease, selling buns and biscuits with a cheery smile. Harry liked to tease him about his hairnet and would smell him deeply whenever he came home every night, burying his face in his hair with an “Mmm, you smell nice”, savouring the sugary scent of icing and the warm smell of baked bread that wafted from Louis wherever he went and never quite seemed to leave him. But the most important thing was that Louis could work plenty of extra hours to leave Harry without distractions while he studied for his rapidly approaching exams – “babe, I love you, but I can’t focus on maths and science and all that bollocks while I’m staring at you” – and the pay was good, so he was rapidly earning money. They were intending to go and look at some flats a little bit later in the month, when Harry’s mum could go with them to make sure they weren’t being conned and could check for things like damp and wallpaper quality and all the stuff that they would have forgotten to bother about, and when Louis had enough money saved up to safely be able to pay several months’ rent in advance if he’d had to. Harry’s revision seemed to be going well; he was clever, and had a good memory, and was confident that he’d pass most, if not all of his exams without too much bother. Life was simple, and it was nice not to have to hide anything or be ashamed of who he was.

A couple of times, Louis had seen his family around town. He’d seen his mother walking down the road with the twins, who had squealed and tried to run to him, but she’d given him a dark look and hurried them away. Lottie came into the shop one day with her friend to get a gingerbread man, and was surprised but pleased to see him there. Felicite had explained the situation to her in private and she knew about Harry, and she seemed to accept it, although she was rather unkindly amused by the fact that Felicite still harboured her schoolgirl crush on the boy that her brother was dating. Now she would drop by quite regularly to buy things and see him.

Felicite herself had been on several outings with Louis, Harry and their friends, to the cinema or to see a few local bands, and she had come out of her shell quite a lot. She was able to see the funny side of her infatuation with Harry, even managing to tease him a couple times about dangerously inflaming her, and she got on well with Niall and Zayn – Niall because Felicite was at the age where everything is funny and she had a tendency to giggle madly every few minutes, and Niall thought everything was hilarious too, so they would both sit together laughing at nothing very much. Zayn got on well with her because he had several little sisters who were a similar age and he knew how to talk to kids, and also because they both had a tendency to fall silent and sit mooning over things, so they could sit together in mutual silence to their hearts’ content and not feel isolated or left out of anything. Louis loved being able to slot some of the pieces of his new and old lives together, and although he pretended not to care that he hadn’t yet found a place for his mother and father to fit, he secretly harboured a tiny bit of hope that maybe one day there’d be some kind of small resolution between them. He didn’t think Jay would ever fully accept his sexuality or his relationship with Harry, but he did hope that maybe one day she would soften enough to stop scowling whenever she saw him in the street, and that his sisters would stop sadly telling him stories of vicious things she’d said about him at one time or another.

He didn’t really believe, but he hoped.

~*~

Louis was working behind the counter on one greyish Tuesday afternoon. It wasn’t a bad day, weather-wise, but the sky was the colour of a once-white sheet that had been washed just a few too many times, until it was a pale greyish-white, and the sun was hiding behind a blanket of drab clouds. It wasn’t a cold day, or a warm one, but somewhere sort of in between. Basically, it was typical British weather; neither particularly nice nor particularly terrible, but people still wanted to buy buns, so it was a perfectly good day to Louis. Two teenage girls from Harry’s school, who had come in for a chocolate chip muffin each every day this week, bought them and stood in the shop nibbling like chipmunks, sneaking glances at Louis and giggling, were stood by the window, eating their muffins and whispering to each other. One was dirty blonde with a ponytail and had eyeliner only on the underneath of her eyes, like she’d forgotten to do the rest. Her friend had ratty, unkempt hair that had been dyed too many times to establish what colour it was supposed to be, although the roots looked like they might have been mousy brown, and she looked like she might have been moulting, although her face was quite pretty. Louis had a vague feeling that they maybe fancied him, and didn’t have the heart to tell them that he was rather too enamoured with a certain green-eyed punk boy to notice their advances.

But speak of the devil – or an angel, in Louis’ opinion – the little bell above the door clanged, making an impressive amount of noise for such a tinny-looking little silver thing. Most bells above shop doors tended to tinkle softly, but this bell seemed determined to defy all expectations, by being both extremely loud and extremely tuneless, and it was possible to hear it even in the back room when all the electric whisks and such were on, which was possibly the intention. Before Louis had started working there, the bakers in the back had needed to run through to serve anyone who walked in, which had resulted in a lot of burnt buns.

Harry walked through the door, messenger bag hanging off one shoulder with its array of badges gleaming like plastic jewels. Some of them bore band insignias, others slogans advertising everything from safe sex to gay rights, a couple of them bore puns or pretty designs – and the latest one, which a blushing Felicite had bequeathed to him, was a bright pink pin-badge emblazoned with a glittery purple butterfly. The sleeves of his maroon blazer were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the scarlet rose, Shakespeare quote, gender symbols and Motionless In White lyric on his arm and the edges of the cobwebs on his elbows just poking out from underneath the sleeve. He wore an assortment of bracelets on his arms, made with a range of beads, threads or metals, and a battered blue plastic Thomas the Tank Engine watch on his left wrist. Louis decided not to question that one; Harry had always been one for picking up weird accessories here and there and wearing them just to make a point. His grey school trousers were tighter than everyone else’s, his purple-tinted curls were falling over one eye, and he’d changed his silver lip ring and angel bites for black ones. Underneath his blazer he wore a maroon jumper bearing his school’s logo, his shirt had the first three buttons undone to show off a black t-shirt just peeping out from underneath it, and he was wearing a necklace made from metal spikes shaped like sharks’ teeth. His tie was loosely knotted and barely visible from where the knot disappeared underneath his jumper, and his shoes were scuffed black trainers with the laces trailing, undone and far too long. He looked like a textbook sexy rebel from a teenage romance novel, although with rather more tattoos and piercings, and as he stepped over the threshold and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms, eyeing Louis up and down with a smile flirting at the corners of his mouth, the two girls stared at him and all the colour drained from their faces.

“Did you miss me?” Harry called across the shop.

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Oh, God, it’s you,” he answered, feigning disgust, “you follow me everywhere, you do. Don’t you have something better to do with your time? Old ladies to bash? Candy to steal from babies? What sort of a hooligan are you if you haven’t even scared a few small children this week?”

Shrugging, Harry sauntered over to him and leaned over the counter, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Now that last one, I think I can do,” he said quietly, then, raising his voice and turning his attention to the two staring girls, mouths hanging open, muffins forgotten in their manicured hands, “alright, kiddiewinks? Not making eyes at my boyfriend, now, are we?”

He placed his hands flat on the counter, then tilted his head and leaned right over the counter, Louis standing on his toes to meet him. Harry’s mouth met his with a soft noise of skin on skin, his hand cupping Louis’ face, thumb grazing his cheekbone, and his eyes fluttered closed as his nose skimmed Louis’ cheek, the kiss deepening. Louis had been nibbling on an iced biscuit from the line of failures considered unfit for sale or display, and his mouth tasted like sugar and shortbread crumbs, to Harry’s pleasure, whereas Harry tasted of mint chewing gum. The rough material of Louis’ regulation white hairnet brushed against Harry’s forehead, blocking his curls from tickling Louis, and as they exchanged their fond kiss, they could feel the two girls staring at them in dismay.

With a chuckle, Harry broke the kiss, tapping Louis on the end of his nose. “I still can’t express how much I love your hairnet, babe. Very suave.”

The bell above the door let out its long, heavy toll, and when Louis glanced over the two now not-so giggly girls were rushing out of the shop, complexions ashen, gripping their muffins so hard that they were crushing them and crumbs were raining down all over the pavement, leaving a trail of cake behind them like Hansel and Gretel.

Harry laughed, teeth flashing, whilst Louis put his hands on his hips and pretended to look disapproving. “Scaring off my customers, huh?” He tutted, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

With a shrug, Harry said contritely, “I’m sorry, I guess they were just overwhelmed by my manly muscular charms.” The sparkle in his eye was a testament to just how insincere his apology was.

“Or put off their food by our nauseating PDA,” teased Louis. “How was school?”

Harry perched on the windowsill a few feet away, back against the window, appreciatively eyeing the display of treats behind the glass case as he rooted around in his blazer pocket to try and find some change. “Same old, same old. Got a B on that maths test from last week. PE teacher tried to make me put plasters on my arm to cover up my tattoos again, but he gave up when I asked him if I needed to cover up the ones on my back as well.” Smirking, Harry reached behind him and traced the vague area of the wings spanning his back and shoulders with the tip of his finger. “He said yes, but fifteen minutes in, we ran out of plasters. Each individual feather takes up a whole plaster by itself. Oh, and don’t let me forget that I owe that bastard Jonas Rossiter from Geography a kick in the balls.”

Louis had been idly trying to pluck the iced bun with the biggest glace cherry out of the display case with his metal tongs, since he already knew that particular brand of cake was Harry’s favourite, but he stopped and frowned, tongs hanging in mid-air. “What for?”

“Because that’s what he threatened to give me. And you.”

“ _Me_?” Louis was astonished. “What does he want to kick  _me_ in the balls for? I’ve never met him.”

“I’m hurt that you haven’t asked why he would want to kick someone as charming and charismatic in myself in the balls, first,” deadpanned Harry. “He’s one of those Middle Aged fuckwits who think being gay is the equivalent of flaying the skin off small babies and eating them alive with pasta sauce, and he’s seen us out and about together and promised to give my boyfriend ‘a good seeing to’.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Ouch. Poor choice of words.”

“Quite. Well, I told him I was already more than capable of handling that –” Harry smirked, and Louis smirked right back at him, “ – but that pissed him off even more, because morons don’t tend to like having allusions made to their inferior intelligence, and turning their comments into gay sex innuendos, no matter how big an opening they left you…well, you might as well sign your own death warrant. He’s asked me to fight him. I laughed, but he was serious. How amusing.”

There was something in Harry’s expression, and the way he was talking about the fight, which made Louis rather nervous. Of course, he knew that Harry knew how to handle himself and that he had previous for fighting quite a few people and winning – that didn’t stop him from being worried. Especially at the thought of Harry getting into serious trouble so close to his exams, because with all the times he’d bunked off, the classes he’d stopped attending on principle, his attitude towards authority and all the other fights he’d been in. It really would be the worst time to get suspended, or expelled.

“You’re not going to, are you?”

“I don’t know. I might.” Leaning lazily back against the window, Harry stretched his legs out. “I do have a reputation, you know. And I don’t take so kindly to hearing people call you ‘that snobby church twat’ the moment my back’s turned. Even if they do just say it to piss me off, because they know I’ll leap to defend your virtue.”

“My virtue’s long gone by now, darling,” Louis said drily, “but honestly. I couldn’t care less what they call me, you know I don’t give a damn anymore. Please, don’t fight anyone. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a big boy, Louis. I’ve kicked more balls than I can count – both the sporting kind and otherwise.”

“I don’t care,” Louis told him obstinately, “you’re not fighting anyone, least of all because of me. I don’t agree with fighting in the first place, but do you have any idea how awful I’d feel if you came home with so much as a scratch on my account?”

Harry snorted. “He couldn’t lay a finger on me. I’m fast, and I fight dirty, and I’m fully aware of my weak spots. I keep my face clear, so they can’t get at my mouth or my angel bites, and I never let anyone get a handful of my hair. Then, go for the knees, floor them, and sit on them.”

“ _Sit_ on them?” Louis asked, disbelief winning over disapproval.

Shrugging, Harry pushed his magenta-tinted curls off his pale forehead. “It’s not pretty, and it’s not in any fight movies, but it works. I took self-defence classes a couple of years back, and the guy looked at me, when I was a skinny little fourteen year old with a perpetually surly scowl and no muscle on me whatsoever, and he told me straight that I couldn’t put enough force behind a punch for it to do any good, so ‘just kick em in the backs of the legs and don’t let em get up again’. It was good advice.”

“You took self-defence classes.”

“I had to. A whole lot of people took a dislike to me after my image change. Guys at school I could deal with; fourteen year old guys are babies, one square punch to the nose and they’re down and crying for mummy, no matter how little force you put behind it, but I’ve had fully grown men following me round town threatening me, been cornered by groups of them a couple of times…I figured I needed to know how to protect myself.”

Louis nibbled his lower lip. “Shit,” he said eventually.

“Yep. Aren’t people just delightful?” Sliding off the window sill, Harry strode across the room and plucked Louis’ hairnet off his head, leaving his hair a fluffy mess. Then, he leaned over the counter and pressed his forehead against Louis’, eyes falling closed as he breathed slowly out. “Wow. Just thinking about it makes me angry. I haven’t been pissed off for a while. I can’t say I missed it.”

“I love you,” Louis told him.

A wry smile twitched at the corners of Harry’s mouth. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Maybe not. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still love you. And I understood that reference, you great big nerd.” Intertwining their fingers, small tanned ones with long, white digits, Louis stroked the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb and said softly, “No punching, okay? You promise?”

The pause lasted for a long time as Harry chewed on his lip ring, clearly not wanting to give Louis a straight answer. Clearly, that meant that he hadn’t yet disallowed the possibility of fighting this Jonas guy, which meant that Louis’ job wasn’t done yet. He squeezed Harry’s hand harder, then, remembering Harry’s grim anecdote about fighting dirty, blinked his azure eyes, trying to make them shine so that he’d look a bit tearful. He wasn’t beyond a bit of manipulation if that was what it took to keep Harry out of a fight.

“Pinky promise,” Louis requested solemnly, disentangling their fingers and extending his little finger.

A goofy grin spread across Harry’s face, banishing the disquiet, and he wrapped his pinkie finger around Louis’ and squeezed.

“Uncross your fingers, you cheater.”

Laughing, Harry lay his free hand flat on the glass worktop, looking sheepish. “Guilty. Okay. For real this time. I pinky swear that I won’t punch that Jonas bastard in the balls like he deserves. Even if he uses the f-word. Which usually causes me to punch people simply on principle.”

“Good.” Louis didn’t unclasp his hand; they stayed smiling at each other, pinky fingers linked. “Now, what about that cherry bun?”

“I’ve already popped the cherry in  _your_ bun,” Harry said smugly, wiggling his eyebrows.

Louis laughed. “Oh my god, shut up!” Then, without further ado, he crammed the cherry bun that he’d picked up right into Harry’s mouth, shutting off any further innuendos.

Harry was incapable of speech at that moment, his whole large mouth full of sticky bun, but Louis understood at that moment the true meaning of “it’s all in the eyes”, because Harry couldn’t have choked out a soppy declaration of love at that moment if his life had depended on it, but his mossy irises were shining like a diamond the size of the Koh-I-Noor, overflowing with adoration; if he’d been a cartoon character, his eyes would have been enormous scarlet hearts, and even as it was he was oozing with fondness even as his mouth oozed with jam. There was something about the way he was looking at Louis that made Louis’ chest ache, and he smiled at Harry with his mouth revoltingly full of bun and the white icing on his lips looking decidedly wrong and amusingly familiar, and he was so in love with this idiot that he was surprised his heart hadn’t gotten so heavy and full that it stopped.

     ~*~

 

Louis clocked off from the bakery early on Thursday, because it had been a slow day and they decided to shut up shop before closing time. Since several of the pastries and biscuits were now past their shelf lives, he went home with a bag full of tins of delicacies which weren’t even stale, but couldn’t be commercially sold tomorrow. He was pleased with the turn of events; perhaps he couldn’t bake Anne a cake himself, but he could bring her a whole bag of them home from work. He’d brought several of Harry’s favourite raspberry buns, and some gingerbread men for Robin, and an assortment of other things which his boss had offered to him, because Louis hadn’t been working at the bakery for long enough for the biscuit novelty to wear off. After eating so many cakes, you surprisingly do actually get tired of them, so none of the other staff had scrambled to claim anything, but for Louis, the idea of practically limitless amounts of cake was still an exciting prospect. It was for Harry and his family, too.

He walked through the front door at precisely half past one, carrying his bag full of treats and beaming from ear to ear. His white coat billowed around him, making him feel like he was in some kind of movie. Of course, he knew that Harry wouldn’t be home yet, but his mother finished early on Thursdays, and she and Louis had often sat together and chatted, usually about Harry, often lightly making fun of him, although it was only ever playful teasing. Harry didn’t seem to mind, or even find it embarrassing; in fact, on one occasion when he’d come home to find Louis and Anne sat together sharing a bottle of red wine and giggling together over his baby photos, he’d laughed, hugged them both, sat down beside Louis and continued looking at the photos along with them.

But today, when he walked in, Anne was stood in the kitchen, hand on the phone like she’d just put it down, nibbling on her lower lip. Her forehead was creased with anxiety, and as Louis placed his bag on the table with a soft thump, she gave a little jump, like she’d only just noticed that she wasn’t alone.

“Oh, Louis,” she said, forcing a smile, brushing a stray hair off her forehead. “You’re home early.”

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked, immediately heading to her side. She shared some of Harry’s little mannerisms, standing in the same way as he did when he was under stress, chewing her mouth the way he did, although there was no metal for her to nibble at. Louis recognized the signs of her worry as easily as he would have seen Harry’s, since he was looking for the same indicators.

Anne buried her face in her hands, hiding herself from him for a few moments. Anxiously, Louis reached out as if to touch her arm, but pulled his hand back at the last minute, not sure as to whether she would welcome the contact.

A moment or so later, she resurfaced, trembling slightly. Her lipstick was slightly smudged at the corners of her mouth. “Harry’s been in a fight at school,” she said shakily.

Louis’ heart dropped into his stomach with a splash of stomach acid, which it subsequently proceeded to start drowning in.

“W-what?”

“They just called me. It was with a boy in his class. The boy had been heckling him, making comments, you know the sort. Harry pretended none of it was getting to him, but he was getting angrier and angrier, and eventually he just snapped and –” She stopped, taking deep, heavy breaths. “Oh, God. He hasn’t been in a fight for so long. I thought we’d seen the end of it. He’s been so  _happy_  lately, so settled, it’s been months since he last locked himself in his room and listened to his music and wouldn’t talk to anyone. What do I do? I don’t want to upset him, and in these kinds of moods I could make him worse.”

“I’ll go.”

She stared at him. “You’ve not seen him like this before.”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t like to see him in this kind of state. He gets in a mess. He isn’t like he usually is, I know he’s always been so gentle with you, and that’s exactly how Harry is, but when it takes him like this, when he gets worked up, he’s a different person, Louis. You don’t want to see him that way. I doubt he wants you to see, either.”

“Listen,” Louis told her fiercely, “you’re not telling me anything he hasn’t already said to try and put me off, and I’ll tell you the exact same thing I told him: I love him, happy or angry, no matter how many fights he’s been in or how battered he is. Will you let me go? He needs me.”

A smile began spreading across her face, small at first, but then getting larger as she gave him the kind of glowing smile that her son so often wore. It was slightly marred with tiredness and stress, but nonetheless bright.

“Go on,” she told him softly. “You’re right. He does need you. And he’s lucky to have you.”

As if that had been some kind of signal, Louis struggled out of his baggy white regulation coat, hurriedly draping it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His hairnet still hung out of the pocket of it. Abandoning his bag of cakes, he made a run for the front door, then realized that it was quite a chilly day and he didn’t have a lot of tolerance for coldness. A large, loose black hoodie of Harry’s with a slightly cracked logo with a slightly cracked logo for some band on it was hanging over the banister, and he pulled it over his head, melting into the warmth, the familiar Harry smell, the cosiness of the worn material stroking his skin like Harry’s fingers were trailing down his arms. Taking a deep breath, Louis launched himself out through the front door and started running, his feet seeming to fly over the gravel and pavements and hardly touching the ground. He had only been to Harry’s school a few times, but he was confident he knew the way. The only question was how quickly he could get there.

  ~*~

Seven minutes, it turned out, for what should have been at least a fifteen minute walk, although he lost another minute or so when he staggered to a halt outside the school gates, bent double and gasping for breath. He was reasonably fit, but it had been a long time since he’d run half as far as that at the speed he’d been going. The school gates were a good leaning post, and he caught his breath fairly quickly. Brushing some lint off his shabby hoodie and smoothing down his hair at the back, hoping it hadn’t been too thoroughly destroyed by the hairnet, he put his hands in his pockets and walked straight through the open gates, heading for the main reception building.

When he slipped through the automatic doors into the main waiting area saw Harry immediately, sat in a squashy armchair with his face buried in his hands and the corners of a cold compress poking out from between his fingers. The left knee of his trousers was torn dramatically a good halfway down his calf, and the material on the other knee was looking rather ragged. He had taken his jumper and blazer off, leaving them in a ball on the floor beside him, and several buttons were missing from his white shirt, although the grey t-shirt he wore underneath seemed relatively unscathed. His knuckles were grazed and he was missing several bracelets. In a chair beside him sat Zayn, although he was mostly covered up by a lanky blond sitting on his knee, one arm looped with casual possessiveness around his neck. Niall had a red welt on one cheekbone and several dark red spots on his collar (Louis tried not to think too hard about what they might be spots of), and Zayn had a torn sleeve and dishevelled hair, but aside from that, they seemed perfectly fine.

Throat dry, Louis licked his lips, trying to find some words from where they were grimly clinging to the back of his oesophagus, but they refused to dislodge themselves from around his aching tonsils, so in the end he just dropped to his knees in front of Harry with a soft moan, fingers brushing the back of one of his bloodied hands.

Startled, Harry’s head jerked and he flinched away from the contact, but then his eyes focused, glowing green globes rimmed with smudges of ebony, shining and sore from the intensity of his crying, and he stared at Louis. His mouth was heavily swollen, dotted with glistening ruby beads, and although he always seemed to look tired, the shadows beneath his left eye were visibly darker than the ones caused by exhaustion underneath his right. Those bright green eyes encircled in black were like cat eyes staring at him from the depths of night, and similarly feral. Unreachable. Wild.

The less bruised corner of Harry’s mouth twitched into a wobbly, humourless smile. “I didn’t break my promise, Lou,” he said, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “I never kicked the bastard in the balls after all.” Then his smile dropped and he let out a little whimper, blood dripping from his abused mouth like water droplets slowly falling from melting icicles.

Louis hugged him, first and foremost. He pulled Harry into his arms and slipped his fingers into his hair, anchoring them in silky chocolate ringlets, and his lips found their way into his hair too, murmuring condolences and endearments and basically nonsense, whilst Harry shook and cried all over his neck, leaving fat dark tearstains on Louis’ hoodie, raindrops falling from his storm-cloud eyes, more grey than green now that he was crying, as if his misery had sucked all of the colour out of them.

“All right, baby, come on, I’m here,” Louis soothed. “Come on. What happened?” he asked Zayn.

Since whatever Zayn would have said would be muffled by Niall’s bony back, the blond spoke for him, blue eyes grave at the sight of their leader in such distress. “This kid called Jonas has been getting at him for days, trying to make him mad. Making comments, you know the sort. Mostly about his clothes and sexuality and all that, but then he started talking about you. Calling you names, saying you’re a dirty slit and if you’d do him you’d do anyone, etcetera, etcetera. All totally pathetic stuff, and if it had been about himself, Harry wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. Anyway, you could see him getting pissed, but he wouldn’t rise to the bait – so Jonas stepped up his game a bit. Started making threats.”

“He’d found out where you worked,” Harry said, lifting his head, voice muffled by the swelling on his mouth. “He had pictures of you on his phone, from the bakery. Said he was gonna wait for you. Hurt you. Knock you down and kick you until you couldn’t even scream.” He stared at Louis anxiously, like he was half expecting the sheer threat had caused Louis some harm.

Despite being disgusted and a bit unnerved by this total stranger professing such an intense desire to hurt him, Louis mustered a derisive snort. “Yeah. Sure. Tell me you didn’t buy into that crap, babe, the guy’s clearly all mouth and no brain.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Harry demanded with a tinge of hysteria colouring his tone. “Just tell him to go ahead? Let him hurt you?”

“Yes, because he obviously wasn’t gonna do it!” Zayn said impatiently, leaning around Niall, one hand resting on the small of the blond’s back, “I told you as much myself!”

Scrunching in on himself like a hedgehog curling into a ball, Harry fell silent.

Louis started rubbing Harry’s back in little circles, trying to calm him. “You’re in a right mess,” he tutted.

Harry gave a laugh which was also a sob. “You should see the other guy.”

“Yeah, but he won’t be seeing you,” Zayn muttered, “or anyone else for that matter, at least not until the swelling goes down.”

Harry laughed again, a little too loud and a little too high, then flinched and brought a hand to his mouth. When he brought it away again, his fingers were stained with blotches of strawberry red.

“Look at your  _mouth_ ,” fretted Louis, tilting Harry’s head back for a better look at him. “God, look at all of you.”

“Yeah, he belted me right in the mouth…guess I won’t be able to suck your cock for a couple of weeks, babe.” He managed a weak little ghost of his usual radiant smile.

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me later. Come on, what’s the damage? How much trouble are you in? And don’t try to fob me off with an innuendo, because you know exactly what I mean.”

Harry sighed. “A week’s suspension. Pending further punishment. I’m on the agenda for the next board meeting so they can decide whether or not it’s worth their while chucking me out or not, this close to the end of the year and so close to my exams, whether they can make the necessary arrangements in time and if I’m bad enough to be considered a danger to the other pupils and so on…”

“Well, if they haven’t decided you’re definitely out yet than that’s something, I suppose. Come on. Let’s head home. I want to take a closer look at that mouth.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” Harry said, with almost his usual smirk.

Louis sighed.

“Okay, okay.” He got up stiffly and began bouncing experimentally on the balls of his feet. He grimaced down at his exposed knee. “Ouch. I’m a bit worse for wear. Any chance of you donning your sexy nurse’s outfit and kissing it better for me, sweetheart?”

“No chance whatsoever,” Louis answered briskly, sliding his arm underneath Harry’s and bringing it around his shoulder for support. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, “smarts a bit, though.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Louis promised.

“Now where have I heard that before?” whispered Harry with another wicked grin, and Louis dryly decided that he was going to be absolutely fine, if he was already back to cracking terrible sex jokes.

They started walking towards the school gates – or rather, Louis walked, and Harry limped, pale and clammy from putting weight on his bad leg. Louis suspected that he’d sprained it rather than just grazed it, but he didn’t like to say anything. Harry’s fingers dug into Louis’ shoulder, fiercely gripping the fabric of his borrowed hoodie, and he nestled into Louis’ side as they slowly made their way towards the main road.

“Did Niall and Zayn make up their minds about making another go of it, then?” he asked by way of a distraction.

For several weeks now, Niall and Zayn had determinedly refused to put a label on their relationship, which was somewhere between boyfriends and fuck-buddies, in that they were exclusive to each other and in an agreement not to see other people, spent most of their time together, flirted constantly and had copious amounts of sex, but they wouldn’t yet acknowledge that they were dating or say for definite that they weren’t, despite constant teasing and nagging from Harry and Louis to stop being awkward bastards and admit that they were going out again. But the cuddly display from in there hinted that they might have made their decision.

“They’re still dragging their heels about it, getting answers out of them is like getting blood out of a stone. Except I almost think a stone would be inclined to be less stubborn about it. But they  _are_  going out, you can tell by looking at them. Niall’s just sticking with his whole ‘roaming wild and free as the wind’ persona, and Zayn enjoys thinking he’s all mysterious and shit…”

Louis laughed, more of a giggle than anything else, and he heard a high-pitched, falsetto laugh imitate him mere seconds later, followed by several nasty, jeering laughs. Irritated, he looked up and away from Harry – he knew his voice could be a little high sometimes, it wasn’t his fault that he was soft-spoken and he didn’t think much of being laughed at for it – and found himself being faced down by a large group of people in school uniform, mostly lads but a couple of token giggling girlfriends there to cheer them on, and none of them looked particularly friendly  or intelligent. One of them had a spectacular black eye and a lip almost as swollen as Harry’s, and his shirt was torn right down the front to show off several long, deep scratches from his chest to his stomach. Louis glanced down at Harry’s bitten short fingernails and then spotted Niall’s lion-shaped ring still adorning his index finger, and put two and two together. Harry couldn’t scratch, but the ring had teeth. 

He met the gaze of the guy with the battered face without flinching, surprised that he could still contort his face into that ugly scowl he was wearing without considerable pain, bearing in mind how hard Harry appeared to have punched him. His grip on Harry tightened and he stroked Harry’s shoulder with his thumb, both to reassure him and because he was secretly rather proud that Harry had clearly held his own against this Jonas guy, who, incidentally, was built like a tank and seemed to have the same knack for squashing people flat, and Harry was a tall skinny guy who looked tough but was about as scary as a fluffy little kitten and ten times less violent. Then, Louis straightened up to make himself seem taller and tried to remember that he was nearly three years older than this prick, and definitely vastly superior in intelligence, and Harry was still a physical and emotional mess and Louis wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way.

He’d planned to say commandingly (and slightly rudely) ‘shift!’ to get them all to move out of the way, but years of being told to treat others how you would have them treat you and knowing that he wouldn’t like being spoken to like that, he ended up saying a little lamely, “Excuse me.”

Laughter ensued.

 _“Excuse me! Excuse me!”_ came bouncing back at him in shrill, squeaky voices, like a horde of demented parrots, although the guy who was staring Louis down didn’t join in. He just smirked.

“Yes, that’s  _right_ , I said ‘excuse me’, which is something non-moronic people with a few manners tend to say to one another as an indication that they want them to get the fuck out of their way,” Louis said calmly, with a large helping of sarcasm and patronization, hoping he didn’t look as pissed off as he felt, because if he did, then his complexion probably resembled that of a strawberry.

There was some uncertain shuffling; as Louis had suspected, they didn’t know quite how to react to someone with a sharp tongue and a few extra years of age who refused to back down or be intimidated by their numbers or their infantile jeering, and he had a motive other than bravado for wanting to win this fight. Harry looked anxious and also like he was trying very hard not to look anxious, instinctively going to nibble on his lip ring but trying not to because it hurt, and Louis felt a strange urge to protect him, even though Harry was all long limbs and sharp bones and wild hair and people crossed the street to avoid him and he looked like an extremely attractive eyeliner-wearing thug (which seemed laughable to Louis now that he knew him, but still). Louis was little and compact and curvy and wore a rosary around his neck and had Jesus bracelets for religion rather than fashion, and didn’t look like he was capable of making a three year old get out of his way, and he would never willingly hurt anyone because that wasn’t his way of doing things (or Jesus’, and contrary to what his mother and now his school seemed to think, Louis paid great heed to Jesus’ way of doing things, because to put it plainly, Jesus had his shit together even if he did die several thousand years ago) but that didn’t mean he would blatantly refuse to use violence.

Basically, if someone hit Harry, Louis was going to make sure he hit them a whole lot harder. He’d hit them so hard that they felt it in a past life. If reincarnation genuinely was a thing.

“So.” The guy with the panda eyes spoke like he had a mouthful of marbles, every word rolling around weirdly in his mouth with a kind of clinking sound. Louis wasn’t sure whether it was his swollen mouth or whether he usually talked like that, and also the clicking sounded rather like the grinding of broken teeth. He couldn’t decide whether the idea of Harry breaking someone’s teeth was satisfying or not. He knew he wasn’t  _supposed_ to enjoy people’s pain, but if he was going to have to find it in himself to forgive this guy then it might be nice to have a bit of recompense – like knowing that he was going to regret picking a fight with Harry Styles for a long, long time.

“So,” Louis replied.

“You’re the boyfriend.”

“I am,” agreed Louis. “Lucky me. You’re the wanker who’s been making  _threats_  to my boyfriend.”

“I a –” at the last possible second, Jonas realized what exactly he’d been about to agree with and cut himself off with a scowl, ruining Louis’ fun. “You don’t look as holy as I expected. Where’s your Bible, then?”

“I left it at home with my whips and fluffy handcuffs,” Louis deadpanned, “Harry and I take ‘Bible Bashing’ very seriously, you know. You should hear how he squeals when I smack him with the flat of my Holy Book and make him promise to abide by the laws of Jesus. Kinky little bitch.” He fondly squeezed Harry’s shoulders and raised his eyebrows suggestively, punctuating it with a little smirk.

He also sent a silent apology flying skywards for the blasphemy, hoping that God had a sense of humour and wouldn’t mind. Still tucked under his arm, Harry was shaking with the effort of not laughing, biting his sore lip so hard that Louis was afraid it might bleed again, and he decided that even if this came to a fight and he lost, at least he’d made Harry laugh, and that was a victory in itself.

The amassed crowd wore a variety of expressions, from horror to amusement to confusion. Louis would have loved to sit gleefully admiring them all, seeing the effect that his little statement had had, but he wanted to get Harry past them, so he started walking purposefully towards them, pulling Harry with him.

Some of them scattered, but a great deal of them stood their ground. Louis looked up at Jonas, who looked pretty immovable, and said “Excuse me,” with such ferocity that he might as well have shouted swearwords in his face. The guy looked taken aback. Louis thought that Harry looked pretty surprised as well.

“Just hold on a minute. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well, wouldn’t  _you_ like to know.”

“Yeah, I would, actually.”

“That’s a shame, since it’s none of your concern.”

“Hmm. Maybe not. But you know what  _is_ my concern?” Jonas leaned forwards, breathing out a gust of mint chewing gum and that rusty, bitter blood smell, and sneered, “what sort of church boy doesn’t even go to church?”

Flabbergasted, Louis stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Looking incredibly pleased with himself, the battered boy straightened up. “I went to wait outside the church last Sunday. Heard you’d be there. Except I waited and I waited, and you weren’t there. Skiving off, huh?”

Louis’ first instinct was to make up some excuse as to why he hadn’t been there, although that seemed a bit pathetic and he didn’t have to justify himself to this guy especially since he  _had_ been a regular churchgoer and toothless Jonas had probably never set foot over the threshold of a church in his life and probably couldn’t tell the difference between an altar and a pew if his life depended on it – but in the end he just folded his arms and scowled.

“Except I asked around. Talked to a couple of people. And apparently they haven’t seen you hanging out at the church in  _weeks._ They were worried, actually, your mother apparently wasn’t very keen to tell them where you’d gone. I wonder why that is? Wonder why she’s so  _ashamed_ of her  _gay son_.”

As if he were a cooking hob and someone had just switched on the gas, Louis felt his anger spark, ignite, and slowly begin kindling into a burn. It licked at his stomach lining, coiled around his intestines, crept through his blood and then began dancing in the tips of his ears, which were probably turning red. Underneath his arm, he could feel Harry stiffening, see his expression turning hostile from his peripheral vision and knew that Harry was, if anything, even more furious than he was, and strangely that helped to anchor him. If he lost it and started yelling at this guy, then so would Harry, and Louis didn’t want him upset any more today. He forced his anger back, swallowing it like scalding water that seared every cell of his body on the way down.

“She can be as ashamed as she likes,” Louis told him. “I don’t care. And I don’t have to go to church to be devout and to care about god, and I don’t have to stand here talking to you fuckwits about it, either. Come on, Harry.”

He pulled Harry ahead of him, ignoring the slight resistance as Harry hung back, clearly still unwilling to let the comments slide. Silently pleading with him to just leave it, that the two of them could just walk out now and leave it at that, Louis dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulder and tried desperately to convey how much he wanted them to just rise above all of this and walk away, and maybe it was because he was practically burrowing holes in Harry’s skin with his fingertips, maybe it was because Harry knew him so well or maybe Harry too decided that it wasn’t worth kicking up another fuss – but whatever the reason, he became pliant, obediently allowing Louis to lead him away.

A cloud of catcalls and mockery floated after them, trying to poison them with anger, but Louis took a deep breath and ignored it. He heard the soft sound of Harry swallowing, felt the cold chill of the metal clasp of one of his bracelets brushing against Louis’ hip as his large hand rested on his waist, the material of his borrowed hoodie riding up slightly to expose a silver of golden brown skin.

“Nice hoodie,” Harry said softly. “Didn’t know you were into Death Cab.”

Louis looked sheepishly down at the peeling insignia which, now he knew what to look for, was just about legible as reading  _“Death Cab For Cutie”_ in shabby yellow block lettering. “Yeah. I just sort of threw it on. I figured it was one-up from showing up in a hairnet and stripey apron.”

“FAG!”

Harry’s cheeks pinked, but he kept his composure as he commented quietly, “In no way do I resemble a cigarette.”

“Sure you do, babe. You’re hot, aren’t you?”

A little smile flickered across Harry’s face.

“Wanker!”

They exchanged glances.

Louis shrugged. “Can’t deny that.” They both giggled.

“Gay emo tosser!”

“I’m a punk!” Harry bellowed over his shoulder, “it’s a completely different subculture!”

Casting him a disapproving look, Louis reprimanded him sternly, “Don’t confer with the ignoramuses, Harry, it only gives them odd ideas that they’ve secured some sort of victory.”

“Sorry.”

They walked a little further, still being hurled abuse, and Louis heartily wished he could turn around and give them all the finger, but Harry was tucked into his side and thus far having the moral high ground was their victory, and he knew that the best way to aggravate them was by not responding, so he said and did nothing, and it felt far more satisfying than you might imagine.

After a particularly graphic comment directed at Harry which described him as being something along the lines of a ‘filthy cocksucker’, or something equally charming of that sort, Harry commented with some amusement, “For such a group of insistently heterosexual teenage boys, they do seem rather preoccupied with the great and bountiful adventures of my penis.”

“Of course they do. As is the case with most insistently heterosexual teenage boys, they hide behind a whole lot of swagger and homophobia whilst secretly they get off on it, and hide in their rooms watching gay porn into the small hours of the night and thinking that of course they hate gays in any shape or form, but they are perfectly at their disposure to abuse them because nobody knows that they would really like to watch us all have sex.”

“Speaking from personal experience, are we?”

“Of course not. I was far too God-fearing – and mother-fearing – to watch porn. And I have my dignity. However, my dignity is a long-forgotten thing, tattered and broken as it was, and I don’t think God will so much mind my watching porn, seeing as I’ve already partaken in similar activities already. Is it any good?”

“Depends,” Harry admitted, “I haven’t had cause to watch any of late, maybe that would be a good rainy-day activity next time we’re at home. I have a few old favourites that are absolute compulsory viewing, by the way, there’s a couple of things we really must try.” He said all of this in such an earnest fashion that he might as well have been recommending they sample some form of pie recipe than try out some new sex positions learnt from gay pornography, and Louis burst out laughing.

“I love you,” he said, shaking his head, eyes dancing with merriment like waves breaking against rocks on the sea bed, sparkling like sunlight on the water.

“I love you too. Now, how about we give these raging closeted gay sex aficionados a little something to say thank you for the lovely greeting they gave us?” He stage-whispered, “Make out with me, it’s for science. I want to see how many of them get hard.”

“Oh, well, if it’s for scientific purposes,” Louis said with the kind of smile you don’t often see outside of weddings, maternity wings or pictures of old couples who look at each other with so much love in their eyes that it makes onlookers’ chests ache to look, and he grabbed Harry by the collar of his torn white shirt and pulled him down to his height and kissed him with a complete lack of regard for his swollen mouth, because his anger was still hot and heavy in his cheeks, stomach and chest and he needed an outlet, and this was as good an outlet as any.

It wasn’t one of their better kisses, because Harry’s mouth was sore so his technique was messy and sloppy, and Louis was angry and distracted, so his own skill was rather diminished. And for the first few moments or so, before the gentle heat of Harry’s lips took over, whilst Louis could still taste that metallic copper tang on his boyfriend’s mouth from where he had bled, and whilst he still had it firmly in mind that this kiss was intended largely just to piss off the people who were watching them, it wasn’t particularly enjoyable. It was sullied by the fact that this was for the most part a display of affection intended simply to offend. But then Harry sighed into Louis’ mouth and breathed coolness into him, extinguishing the flames inside him, and his large hands found Louis’ waist and settled there, and Louis pressed his warm forehead against Harry’s colder one and melded into his touch, and then the kiss was just them. Just the icy electric zing of Harry’s lip ring on Louis’ mouth, brushing against the tip of his tongue. Just the steady pressure of familiar hands holding him steady as he stood on his toes. Just the tickle of curly hair on his face and the heat where their bodies were pressed together and oh, if they were alone in a house with a nice comfortable bed and not standing battered and simmering with anger in a schoolyard being watched by a horde of disgusted bullies, the things they would have done. The things this would have continued into.

But Louis wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing the little soft moans Harry made just for him, gasping against the shell of his ear like each sound was a secret. He didn’t want them to look at how Harry’s skin, white and soft like clouds, became interspersed with splashes of cherry red on his cheeks. He hated the thought of them watching as Harry’s long fingers dipped underneath his clothes and stroked his skin, worshipping every part of him with his slender hands. Those things were just for him, and nobody else was allowed to see them.

So he broke the kiss with a little pleased sound, and stayed on his toes to meet Harry’s gaze, tired but warm with adoration, and shining like cut glass in candlelight, which gave him the idea that he was going to run Harry a bath with candles later, and maybe they’d share it, if they could cram Harry’s long body and Louis’ lithe one into the quite small bath at Harry’s house. Then he’d wash Harry’s hair for him, because he liked that, and he made the most pleasing purring noises when Louis rubbed his scalp just right to get all the shampoo bubbles out, and Louis liked to tease him about how wrinkly his fingertips got when he’d been in the bath long enough. Baths were an excellent thing to have immediately before or after having sex, to clean up and relax afterwards, or to prepare so that you looked and smelled wonderful just before, so there was that, too. Anyway, Louis gave Harry a tug and Harry came with him, and finally there was silence as they sauntered out of the gates hand in hand, with the people who had been yelling comments finally silenced, slack-jawed and open mouthed and, for once, completely lost for ignorant words.

 

~*~

But there was one last thing which Louis found was bothering him. 

He didn’t really like to bring it up, not after the lovely evening they’d had. He’d given Harry a blow job in the shower, whilst they both struggled to stay quiet because Anne and Robin were just downstairs, and Harry was often very vocal. Then they had a bath afterwards to clean up, and now Harry was lying sleepily and contentedly on the bed with his head resting in Louis’ cross-legged lap, as Louis stroked his silky, freshly washed hair and enjoyed the slide of soft curls between his fingers. But something was bothering him, like an unscratched itch; a splinter buried just beneath the skin, and Louis couldn’t seem to get it out of my head.

“Maybe he’s right,” he said eventually. He’d meant to say it to himself, but somehow it slipped out, and Harry’s eyes opened and his head tilted back as he looked up at Louis, irises clouded with tired happiness.

“Mm?” His deep voice was heavy, fond and exhausted. Louis wished he hadn’t brought it up, knew that it was just going to upset them both, but Harry always knew how to make him feel better, and he so desperately needed reassurance.

“Jonas. Maybe he was right.”

Harry’s forehead wrinkled. “Baby, that guy’s never been right in his life. Every word that leaves his mouth is automatically wrong just because he’s said it. What exactly is it that you seem to think he has actually managed to be right about?”

Louis swallowed. “I’m not a good Christian.”

Immediately, Harry sat up, wrenching his head out of Louis’ hands which must have hurt, bearing in mind how thickly intertwined Louis’ fingers were in his hair. Turning around, he said pleadingly, “Please. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do it to me. You  _know_ God doesn’t give a damn about who you fall in love with, you  _know_ that. I’m going to  _kill_ that Jonas,” he seethed, “you know God doesn’t care! Don’t you listen to that guy. Don’t you dare. Please don’t let him change your mind about this. Please.”

He looked like he might cry, and Louis was horrified. “Not about  _that_! How stupid do you think I am?”

Harry looked so relieved that he almost looked like he’d been in horrible pain that had only just gone away. “Oh. Well. If you’re listening to  _anything_ he’s said then you’re pretty stupid, no offence, but go on. What’s up.” His fingers brushed the underside of Louis’ jaw, and Louis leaned into his hand, eyelids fluttering closed.

“What sort of Christian am I if I don’t go to church?” he asked miserably.

“Louis, plenty of Christians don’t go to church. Some of them  _can’t_ , because of mobility issues and stuff. _We_ can’t. That doesn’t make you a bad Christian.”

“It does. I  _could_ go to church, I just  _won’t_ , because despite all the times I’ve insisted that I don’t care what people think of me anymore and I’ll do what I like, I  _do_ care. I hate being given snide comments and sideways glances, I’m afraid of what my mother would say if I turned up at church, and of all the things that everyone else would say, because she’s probably been gossiping about me – or if she hasn’t, then that’s even worse, because they will assume a lot of awful things and hate me all the more. I’m scared, Harry. We promised each other we’d stop being scared. I don’t like letting you down. But I’m scared about what people will think. What they’ll say.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Don’t.” Harry looked him in the eyes. “Louis. Please. I know it’s hard. I know it’s scary feeling like people hate who you are, and even scarier knowing that they do. But I’m here. Always. Please don’t be scared.”

“The worst part is that I want to be a good Christian. I know I’m not a bad person. But I’m  _becoming_ a bad person because I’m scared to do the right thing. I’m the worst  _kind_ of bad person, the kind with good intentions who doesn’t have the guts.”

“You’re not a bad person!” Harry’s hand jumped to his hair, ruffling it into a mess. He swallowed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Huh?”

“To church.”

“You? Go to church?”

“If you want me to.”

“But…you hate church.”

“I don’t hate church in itself, I hate all the judgemental bastards who go there. But I don’t care about that. Because you’re right, it’s hard. It’s so, so hard. But you know what makes it easier? It’s when someone else is there to hold your hand. We proved that earlier. Because with all those people saying that stuff, and the state I was in, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Louis gave Harry a watery smile and tried to pretend he wasn’t about to cry.

“This is important,” Harry told him, “because it matters to you. That makes it the most important thing in the world right now. I’d do anything for you. So. I’m gonna ask you again. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I feel like a baby,” mumbled Louis. “Can’t do anything without holding your hand. That’s a reflection on me, not you. But I feel like I’m pathetic because I’m only ever strong when you’re with me.”

“That’s not a bad thing. Togetherness is never a bad thing. I guess we’re like two halves, who function separately but work best together; we’re just lucky to have found the missing piece. But that’s not true, Louis. What about when you found your sister in the club that time, and got her away from those girls? I wasn’t there, then. When your mother was screaming at you and you told her you’d chosen the person who was going to let you be who you are, I was there, but that was all you. You only  _think_ you need me to make you strong, Louis. That’s your fatal flaw.”

“I wish I was more like you.” Louis looked down at the ground. “You…can be strong by yourself. You don’t feel like you need anyone else to help you stand up for yourself.”

Harry smiled wistfully. “That’s funny, because I wish I was more like you. I wish I hadn’t spent so long _having_  to be strong by myself.”

Silence fell. They both watched each other, Louis’ eyes flickering over Harry’s pale skin and dark tattoos, the splashes of colour dancing across the white like paint splodges on white paper. Taking in his tangle of rich mahogany curls that spiralled around his head like a halo, un-brushed and uncontrollable. His swollen mouth, a red blot on his face with a little silver flash in the corner. Leaf green eyes, no longer tired but dreamy, faraway, lost in memories of other things.

All Harry saw was the boy sat opposite him. Caramel fringe falling over his forehead. Two spheres of azure twinkling in his lightly tanned face. Mouth serious, lips full, and Harry wanted to bring a smile to them. Pointed pixie chin, cheekbones to die for, the sort of face Michelangelo might have sculpted out of marble, but ten times more beautiful – and of course, Louis didn’t have such a tiny dick as his statues tended to. That thought brought a smile dancing across Harry’s face like a ray of sunshine flickering through a dark room, and Louis smiled back, basking in the warmth of Harry’s sudden happiness.

“Should we hug to break the tension?” Louis asked after a long pause.

“Okay,” Harry agreed, and then he lurched forwards and buried his face in Louis’ neck, inhaling the smell of shared shampoo and of Louis’ skin and deodorant and that cake and biscuit smell that still clung to him. Louis put both hands on his back, closed his eyes, smiled contentedly at no one in particular. It was a nice moment – quiet, and all theirs, and after all the talking, all they really needed to say was in that hug.

“I’ll always be there for you, Louis,” Harry whispered.

Louis believed that he would. That was more important than believing that maybe people were going to hate him. That was more important than anything.

He didn’t say this out loud, but he hugged Harry even harder and hoped that he already knew.


	20. Chapter 20

Sleeping was nice. Louis liked sleep. Whilst he was asleep, curled up with one of Harry’s decorated arms draped over him, often dreaming of soft dark curves and lilting patterns that were the last thing he saw in the darkness before he dozed off, he was quiet and relaxed. However, when Anne’s soft knock on the door brought him back to the surface of consciousness, and he shifted into Harry’s chest with a sleepy groan only to realize that they were meant to be going to church today. His stomach immediately knotted up with tension, as if the vines tattooed on Harry’s arm had snaked around his intestines and started squeezing like a thorny boa constrictor.

He must have stiffened involuntarily, because Harry breathed out, sniffed, and opened one sleep-blurred eye, the kind of misty, vague green of dew-covered grass. Lifting his head so that several locks of hair fell over his eye, he gave Louis a reassuringly dopey grin and then slowly trailed his fingertips from Louis’ shoulder to his elbow, then his wrist, then interlocked their fingers.

Without saying a word, Harry had instantly cheered him up. Louis slipped out of bed and went on the hunt for some church-appropriate clothes, finding a not-too-badly-creased pair of black trousers (his) draped over the back of a chair and a white shirt (also his) hanging outside the wardrobe, and a black jacket that could have belonged to either of them. He was just knotting his tie, fumbling slightly since it’d been several weeks since he’d last worn one, when he looked up to see Harry fastening a blazer on over a charcoal grey shirt, his outlined eyes emphasized by the dark material, but in a different way than his usual flat black and silver ensembles. Surprised, Louis stopped to watch him. He’d assumed that Harry would keep his usual style just to make a point.

Sensing eyes on him, Harry turned and shot him a smile. “Can’t take your eyes off me, huh?”

“You look good,” Louis said quietly.

Harry’s smile softened, lips forming an even gentler sloping curve. “Thanks,” he replied, and then he walked across the room, looked Louis up and down, pursed his lips and ‘hmm’ed.

“Hmm?”

“Hmm,” Harry agreed, “I like you in a tie. Twirl for me?”

Rolling his eyes, Louis good-naturedly spun in a circle, ending with a slightly mocking curtsey, and Harry made a great show of applauding him.

“You look great,” he announced, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.”

“ _You_ ,” Louis told him, appreciatively eying him up and down as he straightened his collar, “look really sexy. It’s actually very inappropriate to dress so provocatively for church. Shame on you.”

Harry grinned. “You’re such a flirt. Remember, I only look sexy to you.”

“That’s only because I’m the only one in the room with taste. May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the dining hall, Master Styles?” He offered Harry his arm with a grin and stage-whispered, “that means do you want to come down for breakfast?”

“Might do,” replied Harry, accepting it with an equally bright grin, and they descended downstairs, beaming like Cheshire cats.

 

~*~

 

By the time Anne’s car had pulled up outside the church, neither of them were laughing. Harry was chewing so hard on his lip ring that Louis was worried he might chip his teeth, and Louis was twisting his fingers agitatedly together and wishing they weren’t quite so sweaty. He peeked out at the array of people slowly milling into the church and found himself staring at a mock leopard-skin coat worn by an old woman, the print blurring weirdly since he was staring so hard at it.

 

Harry leaned over his shoulder to see what he was looking at, and whispered softly, “I know _exactly_ what you’re thinking.”

Louis said nothing. He sincerely doubted that.

“Look at that woman’s coat. _So_ last season. This congregation is in _dire_ need of homosexuality, we’ll teach them a thing or two about how to look fabulous.”

Louis laughed at that, he couldn’t help it, and he leaned his head against Harry’s for a moment with a sigh. Then, he breathed in deeply, and slipped out of the car.

He stayed close to Harry as they joined the crowd heading into the church, not holding his hand but slightly wishing he was. To his relief, nobody stared at them as they walked in, even though Harry stuck out like a sore thumb with his magenta hair, pierced lip and the fact that he was taller than a large number of the people around them. But they were all talking animatedly amongst themselves so that Louis, Harry, and Anne managed to walk inside without attracting much attention. (Robin wasn’t much of a churchgoer, and tended to stay at home doing odd jobs around the house on Sundays.)

They entered the church, and the air was cool and smelt of candle wax and oldness (which is _so_ asmell all by itself, without even being attached to anything specific), a smell Louis had grown up with. The flower arrangements gave off their own musky scent too, almost overpowering; as they walked past a pillar decorated with dahlias, he inhaled appreciatively. Then, he began scanning the room, trying to find a good place to sit; he didn’t want to be too close to the back, because that would look like they didn’t really want to be there, nor too close to the front, where people could stare at them and they might look overeager. Louis didn’t want anyone to think that he was only coming to church to beg God’s forgiveness for his supposedly frowned-upon relationship. He was coming to pay his respects, and because he believed it was important, not because he felt bad about Harry.

However, before he could begin to feel stressed about it, someone sitting somewhere in the middle turned round, spotted him, and started waving, and he recognized Liam sat with his parents, waving enthusiastically at him. Thankfully, Louis grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him towards their friend, and Anne followed, and they all slid onto the row, Louis sitting right beside Liam and grinning at him in relief.

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Liam said excitedly.

“Yeah, if all goes to plan I’m hoping to make a regular thing of it.”

“ _We’re_ hoping to make a regular thing of it,” Harry interjected, and Louis beamed and squeezed his hand. He hadn’t liked to assume, of course, but he’d hoped that Harry would agree to come with him on a regular basis.

Leaning around her son, Liam’s mum, Karen, also seemed delighted to see Louis. “I haven’t seen you in ages, Louis!” she cried, “you’re looking well! Ooh, hello,” she added coyly, looking at Harry, then meaningfully at their clasped hands, “what have we here?”

“This is my boyfriend,” Louis told her, blushing a little.

“That’s lovely! Awww, how sweet! Pleased to meet you,” enthused Karen, holding out her hand for Harry to shake, which he did with considerable surprise. “Harry, isn’t it? I think Liam told us about you, right, Geoff?”

Her husband nodded and cheerfully shook Harry’s hand too, then went back to staring dreamily at the ceiling, bathing in organ music.

“It’s nice to see you here,” continued Karen happily, “between you and me, I think some of this lot could do with a bit of a wake-up call – they’re all stuck in the Dark Ages, or before. Someone like you two could really do some good around here – if you know what I mean.”

Louis smiled demurely, and Harry opened his mouth – probably to start excitedly offering up suggestions as to how he could convince people of his good intentions, but then two things happened: the music began to crescendo into a louder volume, letting people to know that the service was about to start, and there was an outraged hiss from behind Louis.

Stiffening, he turned around, and Harry turned too, both of them wearing matching glares to throw at whoever had taken such an offence to their presence – and that was when he clapped eyes on his father and mother, hand in hand with the twins, and with the two older girls standing beside them in all their usual church finery.

Louis swallowed, and Harry’s hand immediately slid supportively to the small of his back. Jay gave Louis a look so filthy he was surprised a pile of manure didn’t manifest in the air above his head and fall on him, and took a step back, yanking Daisy and Phoebe with her, whilst his father looked at him in dismay and then hastily retreated a few steps at an angry word from his wife. Felicite looked helpless and Lottie looked shocked, but all Louis could focus on was the disgust on his mother’s face simply at the sight of Harry and Louis sat side by side, Harry’s hand on Louis’ back not even visible from her position.

 

“What are _they_ doing here?” she whispered in a strangled hiss.

“Turn around,” Harry whispered, turning his back on her.

Louis licked his lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, burning in her venomous gaze as she assumed he would burn in hell, hot and shaking. She honestly looked like she hated him, with her mouth contorted into a puckered scowl of crimson lipstick, forehead furrowed, only ever taking her scorching stare off him in order to send daggers into Harry’s back.

“Turn around, Louis,” Harry whispered, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him back to face the front.

“But –”

“We don’t want to cause a scene here,” Harry reminded him, “not in _church._ ”

Louis knew he was right. But he couldn’t help sneaking a few glances behind him before the first hymn started, to see where his family had gone. They were seated on the opposite side of the church, quite close to the back, and Jay was alternating between staring malevolently at them and eyeing her hymn book. Mark looked unhappy but apparently had no intention of intervening with her behaviour – when did he ever? Every so often she’d tug on his sleeve and spit some comment into his ear, making him wince and his forehead creasing with every word, but he made no attempt to argue with her, or even to dissuade her by ignoring whatever she was saying. Felicite gave him a nervous smile, and Lottie kept glancing anxiously at him, whilst the twins fussed and complained and kept asking in innocent little voices why they couldn’t go and say hi to Louis, which made his chest ache. But then the organ reached its highest volume yet and hymn books were flipped to the correct page and they were required to sing, and Louis didn’t look at them anymore.

Of course, he knew that Harry could sing, but a great deal of the music Harry listened to was greatly comprised of, for want of a better term, guttural screaming (of course, it wasn’t really screaming, and some fantastic lyrics were shrouded in the sounds, but he couldn’t think of how else to describe it) so he hadn’t often had the chance to hear Harry sing _properly._ The hymn was ‘I, The Lord Of Sea & Sky’, one of Louis’ favourites – he thought it was pretty, without too much talk of sacrifice and Jesus dying, which of course was important but not exactly a cheerful thing to sing about on a Sunday. Anyway, Harry sang well; he had a nice voice, and several times Louis forgot to sing in favour of merely standing and gaping at his boyfriend, who noticed what he was doing and kept giving him little amused looks between each verse.

They’d just reached the part about the Lord of Wind and Flame when Louis suddenly felt an intense urge to hold Harry’s hand – and why deny it? He tugged on Harry’s sleeve to get his attention, having no intention of whispering mid-hymn (he’d been sternly told off about that by his mother enough times in his very early youth to never do it again) and then, at Harry’s questioning look, thrust his smaller hand into Harry’s big paw. The movement caused his sleeve to ride up, exposing his little wrist tattoo, and they both smiled at it before dropping their hands, fingers still intertwined. Louis didn’t even have to look to know that Jay was glaring at them.

They sat quietly through the sermons; Harry was far more attentive than Louis had anticipated, listening to every word of what the vicar said, and when bits cropped up that he disagreed with, other than a little wrinkle of his nose like a rabbit, he gave little indication of his disgust. In fact, it was _Louis_ who found his mind wandering, as he admired the light pouring through the stained glass windows, taking in the angels and saints depicted on them. His eyes lingered on the elaborate carvings of the cross at the front, on the threads of the hanging tapestries on the walls, on the dull stone floor. He’d missed this place so much. The church was a place he’d grown up in, attending fetes and clubs and Sunday school, before his mother decided that colouring in worksheets of Jesus was a less productive use of his time than sitting listening to sermons that, at that age, he didn’t understand. She’d never exactly been logical in her approach – to anything.

One of the younger members of the congregation, a girl who was probably around eight or nine and wearing an outfit entirely comprised of knitwear in various ugly colours, was supposed to be doing a reading of some sort of passage from the Bible, which she attempted with admirable enthusiasm, rambling a little and stumbling over some of the longer words – until she glanced up halfway through and spotted Harry. Her mouth fell open, and she stopped talking and _stared_ at him, completely in awe.

It could have been the purple hair, or his silver angel bites or lip ring, or the swelling on his mouth which had gone down considerably but was still quite an impressive mess of different shades of purple (actually, his mouth matched his hair quite well at the moment), or maybe it was just because she didn’t recognize him, but the little girl kept gawping at Harry. Everyone else craned their necks to see what had distracted her, then either looked mortified, uncomfortable, or disgusted – most notably the woman who was presumably the little girl’s mother, who looked terrified that Harry would be affronted by the staring of her daughter and exact some awful, thuggish revenge upon her. But Harry just smiled encouragingly at the child, and after she’d stared in intrigue for a while longer, her gaze dropped back to the paper resting on the pulpit in front of her and she finished the reading.

The whole church breathed a sigh of relief. Louis could have sworn he even saw the walls expanding in relief, but of course, that was his imagination. He patted Harry’s knee, and got a warm eye-roll in return; Harry was unperturbed by the attention she had drawn to him. Louis supposed he was used to it.

After that, Louis relaxed reasonably well and felt pretty happy about having decided to come to the service – until it came to receiving communion, and people began trickling to the front in orderly lines to get a blessing, or bread and wine. Louis had been confirmed, so he knew exactly what he was doing. All he was required to do was keel at the front, accept his little tablet of cardboard-flavoured bread and wash it down with sour-Ribena wine, and try very hard not to show how much he wished he had some mouthwash to hand, and that was that. But Harry hadn’t been confirmed; he’d turned his back on the church shortly before he would have been due to begin the process. So as the two of them headed to the front, Louis felt a coil of nervousness in his gut like a snake that might be sleeping or playing dead, and either way it could wake up at any moment and rip his stomach-lining to shreds.

He went ahead of Harry, and accepted his bread and wine as usual – with a new, sour taste in his mouth that was different to the one that usually accumulated after the nasty-tasting substances had been forced down. (He would never understand why the things which were intend to represent the body of Jesus, an inherently good person and therefore surely supposedly good things, tasted so vile, unless it was to dissuade cannibalism.) The vicar smiled and nodded at him, as if to say “nice to have you back”, and Louis managed to give him a slightly weak smile in return, but then he had to step aside to allow Harry his turn, and it slid off his face to be replaced with worry. Last time Father Marshall and Harry had been face to face, he knew it hadn’t turned out well. The Father had insulted Harry’s life and essentially his entire self, calling him a blasphemer and saying he needed to reform and needed the help of Jesus to avoid a fiery fate down under, and Harry had laughed at the man’s beliefs and been rather rude to him, and to cut a long story short, they weren’t friends. Louis didn’t think the man would disgrace himself by turning Harry away from the altar, but aside from that, he was certain of nothing, and he hovered nervously a foot or so away, within easy earshot, as Harry knelt in front of the man.

There was a visible hesitation. It was hard to know what to do with Harry, since he wasn’t eligible for communion, and he was really rather too old for the condescending pat on the head and short line about God’s love that the children too young for it received. For a moment, Father Marshall paused. The line of people paused. Time itself paused – or at least, it felt like it did.

 

“Would you...like a blessing?”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry said quietly.

Nodding, the man rested a hand on top of his curls and said softly, “May the Lord bless you and keep you in eternal life. Amen.”

Everyone waited with bated breath, as if they expected Harry to explode as his body was purged of a thousand heinous demons that had been lurking beneath his skin, like this was some sort of exorcism. Even the vicar seemed frozen, his hand still resting on Harry’s head, and he had a very odd look on his face. Louis looked at him with suspicion, feeling an odd swell of jealousy which didn’t make sense at all, until he put his finger on what was bothering him: the man wasn’t that old, for a vicar. He could only have been in his late thirties, most likely mid-twenties, by the looks of him, without a single steely fleck in his hair. He actually looked quite young, reasonably attractive, if a little too beardy, and Louis couldn’t understand the emotion in his dark eyes until he’d scrutinized it a little longer. Even then, he couldn’t be sure. But he thought the man looked _envious._ And that didn’t make sense at all.

After what felt like thirty years, the shaken-looking vicar lifted his hand from Harry’s head, and Harry immediately stood up. However, as he held his hand out for Louis to take, his emerald gaze lingered on the man in front of him, who looked to be sweating slightly into his dog-collar. Looking right back at him, he looked exhausted, as if blessing Harry had taken something out of him. More than that, he looked _vulnerable_ – as if Harry had whipped off his robe and left him standing naked at the altar with only a chalice at hand with which to preserve his modesty.

Louis’ fingers slipped between Harry’s interlocking with them like a bolt sliding home, and his anxiety evaporated. A little smile had caught the corner of Harry’s mouth, playing with it, twitching it into an almost-smile, and as they headed back to their seats and sat down, he looked at Louis and it became a proper one.

“What was that all about?” murmured Louis against the shell of his ear, curls tickling his nose. He hoped the vicar was watching. It was ridiculous – why would the man be interested in Harry, apart from as an interesting lost-cause to try to convert to strict Catholicism? – but he wanted to reassert his claim. That odd flash-burn of jealousy was still smouldering away somewhere in his intestines.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno.” There was something about his expression which implied thoughtfulness, and perhaps it was Louis’ imagination but he got the impression that whatever it was, Harry didn’t want to talk about it right now, so he decided to let it drop.

The rest of the service passed by remarkably quickly, with very little to distinguish it from the many others Louis had been to over the years. It was nice to be back in church, and he was pleased to see that a surprising number of people smiled at him, or nodded, and a couple even waved. Some people, at least, seemed glad to see him back.

The service ended with another hymn, and Louis left the building with Harry's hand on his back and a smile on his face, pleased to have proved that they could partake in a service without causing any sort of bother. Except perhaps he shouldn't have celebrated too soon, because they were just striding for the churchyard gates when Louis felt a hand on his arm, holding him in a claw-like grip, like a vice around his bicep. Stunned, Louis whirled around to see who had hold of him, only to meet his mother's angry glare. 

She seemed smaller, somehow. He wasn't sure whether that was a psychological thing, since he wasn’t so scared of her any more, or whether he'd grown, or maybe she genuinely had shrunk a little. Whatever it was, it made her far less intimidating. However, her hold was still uncomfortably tight, fingers curling into the curve of his bicep. Her eyes were still that watery blue, a colour which ought to have looked weak but bore an eerie resemblance to an ocean he was in imminent danger of drowning in. She looked him up and down, appearing displeased with what she saw.

 

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed.

"Ow!" Louis protested, trying to pull his arm free.

The sound, and the resistance against his hand since Louis had stopped walking, alerted Harry that something was wrong, and he turned around. When he noticed Jay clinging to Louis' arm, his eyes frosted over, green and glacial, like blades of grass stiff with ice.

"I've had it up to _here_ with you," he said coldly, laying his hand over hers on Louis' arm. She flinched like his nettle-green gaze had stung her, but held determinedly on. "Why can't you leave him alone?" continued Harry sadly, "you may not agree with his life choices, but you could at least respect them."

She scowled. "I want to speak to the organ grinder, not the monkey."

Louis scowled right back, yanking his arm away from the both of them. "And _I'd_ rather not be talked over when I'm standing right here, thank you very much!"

Harry looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered, dropping his eyes to the ground. He looked so apologetic that Louis couldn't stay mad at him and smiled a little to let him know that he was forgiven.

Jay didn't seem to care either way. "What are you doing here?" she repeated viciously. "You've made it quite clear you aren't interested in pursuing this faith any longer. You've determinedly turned your back on the church and refused to listen to reason. So what exactly is your reason for coming here? Do you think it's a big joke now?"

"No," Louis said patiently, "I _haven't_ made it clear that I've turned my back on my faith - in fact, I think I've actually told you the exact opposite. Just because I’ve turned my back on what _you_ think my faith entails doesn’t mean that I’ve turned my back on everything _I_ believe in, mother.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times, like a goldfish wearing lipstick. Then, she tried a different approach; manipulation. “Louis,” she cooed, “it’s okay. I understand. You’re confused. You don’t know what you want.”

With a laugh, Louis replied, “No you don’t. No I’m not. And yes I do. Why is this so hard for you to understand? I know e _xactly_ what I want! I have a boyfriend who loves me and who I love. Yes, maybe there have been implications that God wouldn’t want that, but things change, and I don’t honestly believe he cares, and I am _happy_ with my life! The only thing that isn’t amazing about it is that people like you are trying to stop me from doing the only thing left in my life that I’m not completely satisfied with; expressing my religion.”

“Aren’t you worried, Louis?” she asked desperately. “What if God _doesn’t_ want this for you? What if this is the exact opposite of what he wants, and your tenacity ends in – ends in you going to hell?” The very idea made her look like she might faint.

Louis was beginning to understand a little better now. Of course, he had _known_ that her nastiness hadn’t been purely from spite or ignorance, he’d had an inclination that for some reason she seemed to honestly believe she was doing him good by keeping him away from Harry, but the fearful look in her eye actually made him start to understand.

“Then I’ll deal with the consequences of that when I have to, and not a moment before,” he said gently, “because mother, in all honesty, I’d rather have thirty, forty, fifty happy years living with Harry against God’s will and suffer eternally for it after, because those years I’ll have spent with him will be worth it. And I can never really be damned, not as long as I can still remember him.”

Harry’s expression softened and he looked at Louis as if it was the first time he’d ever properly seen him – like he’d been half blind all his life, eyes clouded with mist, and this was the first time they hadn’t been obscured.

“Besides,” continued Louis, “if what we’re doing is so wrong, he’ll be burning right with me.”

Harry’s lips started moving, fractionally so that it was almost impossible to see what he was whispering under his breath, but Louis caught the faintest snatches of a familiar tune, and saw the wicked little smirk on Harry’s face, and realized he was murmuring “ _burn, baby burn, disco inferno_ ” almost silently under his breath. Louis hit him. Harry obediently stopped singing, but his smirk became an enormous, naughty grin.

“All right, well let’s just say for a moment that God _doesn’t_ care,” Jay began, which surprised Louis immensely. He’d never anticipated that she would even agree to discuss the theoretical possibility. “If he doesn’t care about your sexuality, then he might care about...other things. Am I right in thinking that the two of you have...had...you’re not virgins?”

Louis blushed at the horror of having to discuss his sex life with his mother, and especially in a churchyard with so many people walking past them and pretending not to listen in. He lowered his voice. “No, we’re not.”

Instantly, she drooped like a flower that hadn’t been watered. “Oh. _Louis._ I thought I’d taught you better than that.”

Instantly, he was irritated. “Oh, honestly, _please_ don’t start all that ‘sex is only for procreation, do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman’ crap, because I’m really not in the mood.”

Shaking her head, she said sadly, “I always thought you’d wait for marriage. Like I did. Like your father did. But I don’t suppose that was an option for you, was it?”

“Same-sex marriage is legal in this country now.”

“That’s not what I meant...I suppose _he_ wouldn’t wait.” She nodded meaningfully at Harry.

“Actually, he suggested that I _should_ wait.” Louis was even more annoyed now, resenting the implication that Harry had pressured him into sex.

Jay was surprised; it was written all over her face, however hard she struggled to wipe it away. “Will you get married? I mean...ever?”

“I’d like to.”

“Would he?”

Louis glanced at Harry who nodded and said “Undoubtedly. Not for a few years yet, we’re still young...but one day, I’ll be carrying your son over my threshold with a ring on his finger, and... I hope you’ll be happy for him.”

For a while, she said nothing, merely nibbling on her lip. She had lipstick on her teeth, and it made her look strangely fragile, so that Louis wanted to hug her – to rest his head on her shoulder like he used to when he was little and nuzzle her neck with the top of his head, feathery hair fluttering against her neck. He wanted to call her ‘Mummy’ and tell her he was sorry and everything would be all right, like when he was a very little boy and a cuddle could fix everything. He missed those days. He missed _her._ He kind of missed believing blindly in every word he said, weird as that was. Most of all, he missed being her son.

She interrupted his wistful thoughts. “I can’t pretend to like it,” she told him, “nor do I agree with it. But you’re right about one thing,” she said to Harry; “fighting with you over it won’t do any good. Do what you want.” She gave Louis a watery smile, nodded curtly at Harry and then walked past them, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that her family were following her.

She had almost reached the church gates when Louis called, “I miss you!”

“Miss you too,” she replied, so softly that he barely heard her. Then she straightened up and walked out of the gates, her husband and children scurrying after her.

Louis watched them go feeling incredibly crestfallen; for a moment there, he’d been hopeful that there might be some sort of resolution – maybe not being accepted back into his family, because he didn’t entirely want that any more, but at least that maybe he’d be allowed to see his little sisters sometimes, and his mum would stop being so blindly prejudiced. He supposed that he really ought to be thankful that she’d finally agreed to stop shouting at him every time she was within a ten mile radius of him and his boyfriend, but it didn’t quite feel like enough. Not like hugging her after a long day. Not like playing board games with his little sisters and deliberately throwing the game so that one of the twins won but seemed to have beaten him purely by themselves. Not like sitting with his parents on Sunday evenings after he’d helped wash up after Sunday dinner, drinking hot chocolate with them in silence. It was the little things he missed, the old routines that he hadn’t told Harry about because however eagerly Harry would seek to emulate them, it just wouldn’t be the same.

“You okay?” Harry asked softly. Now that any chance of a spectacle had dwindled, people were walking faster again, not lingering for long enough to listen to their conversation. Louis was glad of that. The gentleness in Harry’s tone was his, and his alone.

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence. Harry was nibbling his lip, mouth darker than usual with the blossom of violet bruises, eyes still that leafy, gorgeous green. He looked ridiculously dapper in his suit, like some mobster from a movie, battered but beautiful; all he needed was to run a hand through his purple-tinted fringe and don a bowler hat, and he’d be a perfect mafia gangster.

 

“You want ice cream?” he asked eventually.

Louis lit up like candles on a birthday cake, sputtering into life as his little sad smile erupted into a full-blown grin. “Yeah.”

~*~

They ended up sitting on a wall near the local ice cream shop, which had been a cutesy old-fashioned Victorian-style sweet shop until the owners realized that nobody really wants pear drops or crystallized violets in glass jars, but everybody wants ice cream. So Harry bought a 99 vanilla cone with a little chocolate flake in it that he pretended to smoke like a cigarette for Louis’ amusement, and Louis bought a chocolate cone and tried to eat it delicately, and failed, and Harry kissed the chocolate off the end of his nose and their kisses were cold because of the delicious frozen treats, and it was all rather lovely, really.

Harry had loosened his tie and rolled up his blazer sleeves, baring his colourful forearms with their light dusting of hairs just visible in the glint of the sunlight dancing across his skin. The wind was playing with his hair, ruffling it like Louis liked to do. His mouth was cherry red, his eyes sparkling, and every so often he’d look at Louis like he couldn’t quite believe he existed. It was an emotion Louis could well reciprocate.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that particularly needed breaching, what with the wind singing softly around them and the odd car driving past. The sky was a pretty shade of blue that Louis would have compared to his eyes, if he’d ever spent much time looking at himself in the mirror and admiring them, and Harry was smiling without smiling, his eyes shining with love for Louis. Louis loved how Harry looked on beautiful days, like he was a flower and the sun made his petals unfold – but he almost wished it could rain, because of this one time when it was pouring with rain and they’d been planning to go out. Louis sulked and pouted and was disappointed, so eventually Harry grabbed him by the hand and hauled him outside. That made Louis sulk harder at first, because he was sopping wet and freezing and miserable and the sky looked like it had been shaded in with pencil, because it was flat grey. But Harry had no shoes on, and he was wearing tight jeans and a baggy white shirt, and capering around the garden with his head thrown back, laughing at the obstinately slate grey sky with the white column of his throat exposed. And as Louis stared, he began twirling around and around in the rain with his arms thrown out, just _laughing,_ rain falling on his face and into his hair and pouring all over him, and he didn’t seem to care at all.

When he’d stopped spinning, his cheeks were flushed sunset pink and his eyes were glittering like the raindrops running down his face, looking pearly grey like the sky rather than green. He laughed breathlessly and seized Louis and kissed him in the rain, both of them soaking wet and giggling, and Louis didn’t understand what was going on at all but he loved it, loved this wild boy hanging onto him with his thick tangle of rain-darkened hair that his fingers so loved to run through, and he was completely insane, but Louis loved him so much that his chest hurt.

He loved him anyway: whether he was curled up in a corner poring over his books, dark shadows underneath his eyes and stress etched into the lines of his face; whether he was lying sprawled in their bed with his limbs hanging everywhere, big and clumsy and adorable; whether he was angry with smouldering eyes and a sharp twist to his mouth; whether he was flushed and hot and desperately turned on; whether he was crazy and hyped up, a little child with a splatter of chocolate hair and sharp snowy limbs. Or whether he was like this, soft and happy and content. Either way, he was stunningly beautiful, and god, Louis loved him. So he didn’t mind that for once, there wasn’t a hope of any rain.

So intently was Louis watching him that he watched as Harry’s tongue paused where it had been licking his ice cream, teasing at it in a rather obscene manner which made Louis want to giggle and smack his arm. He saw Harry raise his eyebrows and tilt his head a little, and followed his gaze to the ice cream shop door.

“Harry, are you –”

Harry held up a hand. He didn’t shush him, but his meaning was clear, and Louis stopped talking immediately. 

Focusing intently on the shop door, Harry watched and waited. He didn’t have to wait very long; a minute or two later, the little bell tinkled and the door swung open, and the vicar stepped out, looking really weird in faded jeans, a Doncaster Rovers football shirt (the strip was several years old, too, Louis noticed) and his dog collar. Louis stared at him, blinking, unable to get used to the idea of seeing the vicar not in his ceremonial robes. But Harry didn’t seem to be preoccupied with that – he watched the man mount the bicycle he’d parked outside the shop, then set off cycling, and immediately Harry crammed the rest of the ice cream into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

 

“What was that all about?” Louis asked, but Harry was already off the wall and brushing crumbs off his legs.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing Louis by the wrist and starting to tug him after the man, who had already pedalled off.

“Wha - ? Why? What?” asked Louis as Harry rushed him around the corner, breaking into a run so as not to lose sight of the man on the bike.

“Trust me on this,” Harry told him, “this is something we need to do.”

 

Deciding not to argue, Louis ran with him, the wind messing with their hair and nipping at their cheeks, exertion staining them scarlet like Dutch dolls. The vicar kept a reasonably leisurely pace, pedalling quite slowly, so they didn’t have to run very fast to catch up with him, but there was still plenty of heavy breathing involved and Louis found that, on his considerably rather shorter legs, he struggled a little to keep up.

The man cycled merrily through the streets, and Louis wasn’t sure why he felt that there was something weird about it until he realized that, for some reason, the vicar was taking great care to avoid the main roads, even heading down a tricky little ring road and then a treacherous one-way system just to make sure he wouldn’t have to cycle a short stretch down one of the busier roads through the town. Yet on the rare occasions when anyone _did_ happen to pass by, they’d greet him and he’d answer with a friendly wave. (No one ever waved at Harry or Louis, but he was past the stage where he expected them to.)

He was getting quite tired at the point where the vicar slowed down even more; Harry gave a gentle tug on his wrist to pull him back, and they both stopped and watched from the very corner of the street as the man pulled into the driveway of a large house, looked both ways to make sure he wasn’t being watched – Harry and Louis ducked and crouched behind a conveniently placed wheelie bin like two girls in a chick flick – and then parked his bike outside, chained it to the fence in a motion which looked extremely practiced, and marched up to the door and knocked.

Barely half a minute later, it was wrenched open, and Louis was about to whisper that he hoped Harry didn’t intend for them to sit behind this bin all day whilst the vicar was visiting friends when the man who had answered the door – tall, lean, thinning black hair, wearing a black turtleneck and expensive jeans – seized the vicar by his dog collar, yanked him forwards and kissed him right there on the doorstep. 

Louis blinked. Then he gawped, staring open-mouthed at the two men, who were playing a frantic game of tonsil tennis directly in front of the other man’s house. It didn’t make sense. This was the man who had tried to talk Harry out of his sexuality, said that it wasn’t God’s will, been totally opposed to it – so what was he doing? He expected Father Marshall to stagger, shove the other man away and shout something pretentious about the will of god, but no, he was running his fingers through the other man’s remaining hair, kissing back for all he was worth. Louis had a headache. He rubbed his temples in utter confusion.

The two men broke apart; Father Marshall anxiously swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked around, and Louis hoped that none of Harry’s long limbs were sticking out from behind the bin. But apparently neither of the men seemed to notice anything amiss, because the stranger smiled, giving Father Marshall the most sultry bedroom eyes Louis had or would ever see anyone make at a vicar (he was rather astonished at the thought of a vicar having sex, being sexy or even knowing that sex existed; it didn’t seem particularly... _holy._ ) He tugged the vicar over the threshold and into his house, poked his head out, sent sharp glances in every direction to be sure that no one was watching, and then hurriedly shut the door.

“Well,” Louis said. He didn’t stand up. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that just yet. He looked at Harry.

Those green cat eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and as he watched, Harry clambered to his feet, rising above Louis like a giant. His mouth had twitched into a little smile, the sun glittering off his angel bites, and as he reached down and gallantly helped Louis to his feet, Louis couldn’t understand why he looked quite so smug.

“What was _that_ all about?” asked Louis. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

“I had my suspicions,” Harry admitted. “We’re done. I’ve seen what I needed to see. Come on.”

He began sauntering down the road in the direction from whence they had came, and Louis hurried to catch up with him, still questioning him insistently as they walked.

“The vicar’s _gay_?”

“Apparently so,” Harry agreed, “I had an inkling, from the way he was looking at me back there. Like he was jealous. Whether of you or of my confidence to be who I am, I’m not sure, unless it was both, but I just had an idea...”

“What are we going to do?” Louis asked excitedly. He knew, of course, that this could change everything – if the vicar, a man of God, was openly gay, then his mother couldn’t continue to say that it was against God’s will, surely? If one of the closest people to God was gay, and nothing had been done about it, surely that would change her mind?

“Nothing,” Harry said, “it’s not our place. I don’t go round outing people who aren’t ready, it’s not nice. Besides, we’ve done what we needed to. We’ve already set the gears in motion.”

Louis frowned. “What do you mean?”

Harry tapped his nose. “You’ll see,” he said cryptically.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's been brought to my attention since finishing the fic that Catholic Priests are in fact celibate, which is an oversight on my part, but if you could like, disregard that... this was the only ending I could think of :') I'm awful at endings.

It was November by the time Father Marshall finally plucked up the courage to pull his partner out of the congregation at church and bravely announce that he was gay.

By that time, Harry had passed his exams, excelling at English, Science, and, ironically, RE, doing reasonably well at his other subjects and failing Art completely, since he’d been unable to resolve his differences with the teacher. He was now happily settled in at college, still firm friends with Niall and Zayn but he’d made himself a couple of new mates, too. One of them was your average teenage guy, with nothing extraordinary about him other than the thickness of his eyebrows, and the other a self-acclaimed emo-goth-mosh-hipster-punk who couldn’t decide which fashion he liked best and so wore a little bit of everything. Seeing a guy with pink and black hair walking down the street in black boots, a loose woollen sweater, girls’ skinny jeans and with six different piercings and an ear stretcher, carrying a cup of Starbucks coffee, would have put most people off, but Harry liked him. Louis quite liked him, too. He was very in favour of equal love and so on, and had a diverse range of musical tastes, and told lots of dirty jokes. But what Louis liked most about Harry’s new friends was that they didn’t judge him, and that was a far more important quality than being able to decide what clothes you wanted to wear.

Louis had some new friends, too. He’d received a promotion at work, so that now he was allowed to help make some of the pastries and yell at the guy who worked on the desk, which was nice sometimes, although he felt mean if he yelled too much. He’d become friends with one of the girls who also worked in the catering side of the bakery, who had ruffled his hair when she first met him and called him “cute”, and when he blushed and said sorry, he had a boyfriend, she giggled and said “not _that_ kind of cute”, and that she knew and that he and Harry made a great couple. Her name was Em, and she was nice. She flirted with everybody, which meant that Harry didn’t like her very much, because he didn’t like people who flirted with Louis and he didn’t know how to react when people who weren’t Louis flirted with him, but Louis thought she was great.

Since his promotion he’d also been able to afford a flat, and his other three friends lived in the same tower block as he did. It was a relatively decent flat; one-bedroom, but it had a kitchen and a living room and a bathroom, and it was clean and the central heating worked and you got a TV and DVD player thrown in, and he liked his neighbours, so Louis was pretty happy with his lot.

One of his neighbours was called Basil. He had long hair and smelt funny and Louis was pretty sure that he smoked pot, but that was his business. He also liked cuddles, had a slight addiction to soap operas and owned more cassette tapes than anyone Louis knew, refusing on principle to buy CDs except to record them onto cassette tapes. He had a cat but it didn’t have a name, and it often wasn’t around because it would mooch in and out of his life whenever it felt like it, and he didn’t seem to mind. “We have an arrangement,” he’d shrug, and that was that.

Another of them, Gina, liked baking. She didn’t actually _work_ in the bakery, which surprised Louis, because baking was something she did pretty much all the time. It was very rare to walk into her flat without being greeted by the warm smell of pastry or chocolate or biscuits wafting around you – she baked so much that she didn’t know what to do with it all, so every week she’d walk down to the nearby homeless shelter and give them several boxes full of food. Louis helped her sometimes; he enjoyed the walk, and how happy it made both Gina and the starving people. They’d hug her and shake her hand and rub their bristly cheeks against hers, and she didn’t seem to mind at all even though most of them were a bit smelly.

The final neighbour was very quiet. Her name was Nadine, and she had long black hair and always wore patterned tights and denim shorts. She was very pale and very spindly, like she was made of porcelain and would be terribly easy to snap in two, and didn’t say much to anyone, and she had some wild weird boyfriend who’d come over, spend weeks with her and then vanish in the middle of the night, leaving her drooping and miserable for days until he came back. Louis felt sympathetic for her. He had a feeling that she was lonely – so lonely that she’d rather have a shitty, dysfunctional relationship than none at all. She’d sit with Louis sometimes, on the communal balcony they shared, and they’d look at the sunset and say nothing, and from that mutual silence a friendship had sprung. Louis hoped that one day she’d trust him enough to talk to him, and he’d be able to help her – but until then, she seemed to appreciate his friendship, and she’d give him quick smiles in the corridor before hiding behind her curtain of hair, and that was rare enough for him to appreciate it.

Harry hadn’t moved in permanently with him yet – Anne was reluctant to let him go, and Louis didn’t want to force the issue. He knew Harry and his mother were close – a closeness he envied – and he had no inclination of splitting it up. Harry would spend weekends at his flat, and the odd day of the week too, and he was hoping that in time, the transition would be permanent. He enjoyed waking up to a bed full of Harry, long limbs all over him and curls tickling his nose, seeing Harry tired and unprotected and sometimes with eyeliner smudges when he’d fallen asleep before he’d taken it off. He liked being able to walk into his kitchen and know that Harry would be waiting for him with a cup of tea. He liked being able to walk in after work and find Harry wandering around wearing nothing but a band t-shirt three sizes too big for him, then pressing him up against the wall and murmuring to him in that low, silken voice just how much he wanted him. He loved being able to fuck quickly or slowly or however the hell they wanted, Harry groaning against his neck, exchanging messy kisses and running fingers through his hair. He didn’t so much love being awoken in the middle of the night to a knock on the door as Harry had turned up drunken and loveable on his doorstep, but he did like the way Harry would cuddle him and clumsily kiss his neck and slur that he loved him, and then wake up the next morning with a hangover and croak the words out all over again.

 

~*~

 

They were at church, sitting in their usual spot in the congregation somewhere towards the middle, when it happened. Louis had noticed that every week, Harry always watched the vicar very closely with his glittering eyes, refusing to explain his behaviour, but observing him closely. That Sunday had been no exception. The sermon was just beginning when the vicar stepped up to his little podium and announced that he hadn’t written a proper sermon for today, because he wanted to talk about love – and he thought words were too clumsy to describe that.

Everyone murmured an ‘awww’, but Harry stayed silent. His gaze had now flickered to the same place as Father Marshall’s – the face of the man whom he had kissed on the doorstep, his hair combed, wearing a suit. The vicar’s expression had softened, and after saying a few more words about love being the greatest force there is, God’s driving incentive, the most powerful thing in creation, he gestured for the other man to join him. Standing side by side on stage, clearly nervous, they looked out at the faces of the onlookers. Harry gave the vicar an encouraging smile.

“There was a time when I believed that the Bible was one hundred percent accurate – that God’s will was written down in black and white, printed and bound. But God’s most important quality has always been this: he is all-loving. Regardless of who you are, God will always forgive your sins. He will always love you, as he made you, and whoever you turn out to be, whether his intended path or not, will please him – because you are _you._ God is brave. God is kind. God cares for everyone. And that’s a quality which I have seen mirrored in...certain members of the parish here.” For a moment, the vicar made deliberate eye-contact with Harry. Everyone turned to stare, but then a soft cough drew their attentions back again.

“The Bible was written by men. And men, as we know, can be prejudiced. Men can be cruel. Men can be _wrong._ Those men may have been prophets, but that does not mean they were immune to the faults of ordinary men – misinterpretation, assumptions, lies. They told us of God’s word, but they were not God...

I am a man of God. I serve him. I try to be a good Christian, to abide by his teachings...would you not agree that I am a man of God?”

He was greeted by vigorous nods.

The vicar inhaled, plastered a smile across his face, and then reached out and took the hand of the man standing beside him. A gasp rippled through the congregation. “Am I not still a man of God?” he asked quietly.

The whole church had fallen deathly silent. All eyes were upon the two men standing hand in hand at the front. Harry was smiling a little, Louis was shocked, and the rest of the congregation seemed torn between confusion, excitement and rapidly dawning horror.

“I was a man of God before I met Marcus,” continued Father Marshall, “and I am still one today. If anything, I am _more_ of a man of God now that I have stopped being so blindly prejudiced against my brothers and sisters...anyone who cannot accept that God’s love is for everyone might want to leave right now.”

Well, Louis thought it had been silent before, but this new silence fell like someone jumping off a bridge; suddenly and heavily, and a shock to the system. The room was devoid of motion, of sound, of anything. Until about fifty or sixty people, at least half the congregation, all stood up, looked around in disgust and walked out, some of them trying to encourage family members to come with them. Louis craned his neck, expecting to see his mother amongst them, but she simply sat looking shell-shocked, as if she was trying to convince herself she hadn’t heard what she thought she’d heard.

Nodding like he’d expected precisely that to happen, the man waited as if to make sure no one else was going to leave, then nodded again in a satisfied sort of way. His thumb skimmed over Marcus’ knuckles and he began to talk again.

“I’ve been stupid, ignorant, prejudiced...I wish it hadn’t taken so long for that to change. But I’m happy. I know God wants everyone to feel happy, and to be loved...and therefore, it doesn’t matter who you’re loved by. When you hurt people with your cruel words, just remember – we are all God’s children. Imagine; if one of God’s children came to Him and told him that they were in love with a boy or a girl, do you think he would condemn them? Do you think he would turn them away, and tell them that love, his most sacred value, was wrong?” He lowered his voice, tone softening. “Jesus loved everyone. He loved the lepers and the prostitutes and the adulterers and the tax collectors. He loved the people who persecuted him. He would not condemn people, but instead accepted and loved them for who we are. We preach agape love, do we not? I think it’s about time we showed it.”

Nobody knew what to say, apparently. Deathly silence had stolen through the room, with not even a whisper to break it. In fact, it was so quiet that people couldn’t even seem to hear each others’ breathing, as if they’d all held their breath at the same time at his speech. Some people still looked astonished, eyebrows raised so high  that they were in danger of vanishing into their hair; others were grinning, Harry and Louis included. At the front of the church, the vicar was gripping his partner’s hand so tightly that both of their knuckles had turned white.

Harry stood up and started applauding.

Everyone stared at him, some with disgust, others seeming to think he was being mocking, and everyone surprised. Louis blinked several times, then he got to his feet and started clapping too.

Harry looked down at him and smiled, and they exchanged nods before continuing to clap even harder. Surprised, Father Marshall smiled at them, as they stood side by side applauding the man who had tried to talk Harry out of his sexuality and forbidden him from the church, and would have done the same to Louis not all that long ago.

Liam was the next to stand up, his parents following closely beside him. Then, the people beside them stood up, and a few people in front, and some more on the other side of the aisle. It spread like wildfire, people leaping out of their seats to applaud, a couple of people whistling and cheering, like a Mexican wave except nobody sat down again. Half the congregation was missing now, gaps dotted here, there and everywhere, whole rows empty in places as if people had been ripped away, but somehow the church seemed so much more _full._ Maybe because the people remaining where more willing to open their hearts and their minds to new things.

Louis stood on his toes so he could see, grinning broadly – and then he thought to look around, turning to glance over his shoulder. What he saw made his heart sink.

His mother was the only person in the room not on her feet, although the rest of his family were standing around her clapping along with everybody else. She didn’t seem angry, nor was she trying to stop her husband or children, but she was sitting completely still, mouth slightly open in shock. Her gaze was glassy, and her blue eyes stared blankly right past the vicar, up at the solemn glass face of Jesus on the cross which decorated the stained glass window behind him, sunlight pouring through his body and shining from behind the two men, so that they were bathed in golden light like the typical cliché of a pair of angels.

~*~

 

“You staying over tonight, babe?"

It was a normal night, really, aside from the whole outing-of-the-vicar thing. Harry and Louis were curled up on the sofa watching some makeover show, where a girl who dressed sort of similarly to Harry, but with less spikes and longer hair, was accosted by a well-meaning TV host and team of stylists who systematically turned her into what Harry described as a ‘pastel goth’. The girl looked utterly horrified with her transformation, but the stylists seemed happy at least, squealing about complimenting colours and how it brought out her eyes or some similar crap. Needless to say, it made very entertaining television.

Harry was lying flat out on the sofa with his head resting on one of the arms, and his feet resting on the other one. Louis was snuggled up on top of him, with one of Harry’s tattooed arms draped over him. He’d gotten three new tattoos in the past few months; a Pierce The Veil song lyric in Louis’ handwriting ‘ _darling you’ll be okay_ ’ (“But what if we split up and you had my writing scrawled all over you?” “Well, I’m sure the tattoo would remind me that I’d be fine”) on his hip, which he’d begged Louis to illegally do for him and in the end Louis had complied. He also had a candy skull from the Mexican Day of the Dead on his round right shoulder, which he said was in memory of his grandmother, who’d died about six months before he met Louis and been astoundingly accepting of his style and sexuality for an eighty year old, and a little cross on the back of his hand, because although he still didn’t entirely believe in God and definitely didn’t believe in the Bible, he knew it was important to Louis, and even before today’s events with the vicar, he and Louis had settled into a comfortable niche in the church. Also, he thought it looked cool.

Harry lifted his head, with some difficulty since Louis’ head was resting on his chest, and said, “Probably. I’ll ring mum in about an hour, let her know whether I’m staying or not. You know she likes me to let her know when I’m coming home.”

“Mm.” Louis couldn’t blame her. He too had a bad habit of habitually checking up on Harry, insisting that he texted him the second he got home. Not that he didn’t trust him, but he hated the thought of him wandering around on his own at night – he could imagine all too well what a field day a group of drunken guys would have if they ran into a sixteen year old punk boy wandering around on his own after dark. Harry could hold his own against a couple of mouthy teenagers, but a group of angry men? Louis didn’t fancy his chances. He hated Harry walking home after dark by himself. It was something else which he and Anne both agreed on.

“I want you to stay tonight,” he said, lowering his voice and giving Harry what he hoped was a sultry look. A shameless ploy, but it was completely true – and he knew that if he admitted he was worried about Harry going out alone, he’d just laugh fondly and ruffle his hair and tell him he could take care of himself, which wasn’t reassuring. “We could watch a movie, or... something...”

Harry smirked. “‘Or something’, huh? What kind of something might that be?”

Louis rolled over onto his stomach so he could look into Harry’s eyes. “You tell me,” he breathed, and then he started kissing Harry insistently, hands in his hair, feeling Harry’s breath quicken and his heart pounding. Within ten minutes or so, all thoughts of going home would be completely out of Harry’s mind. _Smooth, Louis, smooth,_ he congratulated himself, melting into the kiss with more enthusiasm.

It all progressed rather quickly. Harry hadn’t slept at Louis’ house in several days, and there had always been people buzzing around during the day, helping him decorate or calling to give him something or another, or they’d been out at work or with friends, so, basically, they were both kind of gagging for it. Harry ended up lying on top of Louis, raking his fingers insistently through his hair and sucking purple blossom bruises into his golden skin, and he had one hand between Louis’ legs and they were both moaning like a bad porno, and Louis felt pretty smug that this had all gone so seamlessly well and then there was a sound like a knock on the door and they both froze.

They started giggling, then, Louis brushing a few stray curls off Harry’s forehead as Harry heaved himself into a sitting position.

“Oh, dear,” Harry said sheepishly, “we’ve got company. Shall I put the kettle on?”

“You better had,” Louis agreed, and as Harry got up and started heading for the kitchen, he called, “house rule: whoever’s up answers the door.”

“I’m already making your tea, you lazy bastard, get up off your fantastic arse and answer it yourself,” Harry grumbled good-naturedly, but he swerved away from the kitchen door and padded barefoot into the hallway. Louis grinned at his back and sighed, settling down against the pillows. He wasn’t much in the mood for visitors, but maybe Harry would be nice and impatient by the time they were alone again, and he’d stop thinking about home pretty fast _then_.

Louis was lounging on his sofa gazing at the ceiling when Harry returned, with no visitor in his wake but a small brown envelope in his hand. “S’for you,” he said, tossing it across the room; Louis snagged it neatly out of the air with one hand, and frowned at the handwriting, his name messily looped across the front. He was sure he recognized it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Now how about that cuppa?” Harry offered, and he vanished into the kitchen and began clinking mugs and hauling huge plastic milk bottles out of the fridge.

Curious, Louis shook the envelope, examined it, and then ripped it open and tipped it up. A flash of silver caught his eye, and then a necklace slid onto his palm – a little silver cross, on a broken chain where one of the links had buckled and burst, nestling in his hand like a small animal. He stared at it, holding it up to the light on its broken chain, where it swung gently to and fro like a pendulum. As it moved, it twisted slightly in his hand, and he spotted the worn engraving of three letters: LWT, in elaborately etched script. Louis’ mouth fell open and he held it right up close to his face, and sure enough, there was the tiniest of dents in the metal from where, as a child, teething, he’d put it in his mouth, bitten hard and quickly regretted it. It was his necklace.

For the longest time, Louis sat staring at the necklace in utter shock. In the other room, the kettle boiled, Harry’s spoons clinked, he hummed softly to himself, apparently to the tune of _I Dreamed A Dream_ (they’d been to see _Les Miserables_ last week, and Harry had rather enjoyed it). The silver glinted, a familiar cool weight in Louis’ fingers from where he used to fiddle with it when he was nervous, and he blinked until his vision blurred, waiting for it to disappear. But it didn’t.

Then, Harry emerged into the living room with a mug in each hand, saying, “If that’s not enough sugar, you can make your own next time, cos you never can make up your mind how much sugar you want and I just went off how many you had yesterday, so – are you alright?”

Louis wordlessly held up the necklace, and Harry’s gaze fixated on the small crucifix dangling from the broken chain. His eyes widened.

“Is that –?”

Louis nodded. “It’s mine,” he said softly, “my exact one.”

Immediately, Harry dumped the cups of tea on the coffee table, miraculously not spilling any, and sat down on the sofa, holding out his hand in request. Louis relinquished the necklace to him, feeling the empty space on his chest where it had always hung, like he’d lost it all over again. Harry’s clunky rosary beads had begun to feel like a part of him now, he was used to them, but all of a sudden he ached for his own silver chain as well. He didn’t want to take the beads off, not now...but he missed the soft silver against his skin.

Examining it closely, Harry breathed, “Where did it come from? I thought your mother had it.”

“It was in the envelope.”

“Is that her writing?”

Louis checked. “I...I think so. It’s messy, like she wrote it in a rush, but...yeah, I think it is!”

“Then what does it mean? I thought she didn’t want you to have it anymore – that you weren’t holy enough for her.”

“Maybe she’s forgiven me? She’s always listened to what the vicar said...she always told me how wise he was, and that if ever I was in doubt about my religion, or about _anything,_ I should listen to him. She’s always taken great heed of his words...” Louis reached out and touched the cross in amazement. “Do you think...after what he said, do you think she’s realized we were right?”

“That’s what it looks like from where I’m standing...you want it back?”

“It’s broken,” Louis said mournfully.

“Hang on.” After church, Harry had changed out of his formal suit and into jeans and a t-shirt he’d made himself, the one with all the safety pins sticking out of it. Unfastening one of them, he slid it through the place where the two loops of the necklace hung emptily, the place where they should have joined, and then closed it, fastening them back together. It was a clumsy mend, and an obvious one, but Louis loved it – loved that despite his new rosary beads, now he had this piece of his old life back and Harry was still a part of it. A rough, proud piece of it, blindingly obvious and not at all ashamed of it.

“Will you put it on for me?”

“Sure, turn around.”

Louis turned his back on Harry, and undoing the clasp, Harry carefully lifted the crucifix around the front until it hung in its exact old position on Louis’ chest, just underneath his collarbone. Then, he fastened it again, kissing the place on Louis’ neck where his neck and shoulders joined, the little flash of golden skin where there now rested once again a delicate silver chain.

Louis touched it, and he smiled so hard his face started to ache.

“Happy?” Harry whispered.

“Very happy,” Louis answered, and he turned and threw his arms around him, the metal cross pressing against both of their chests. His punk boy and his Christianity, finally merged into one.

 

**The End.**


End file.
